The Morning After
by Janerey
Summary: Sequel to 'Under the Setting Sun'. After a whirlwind summer romance, Katniss struggles to adjust to a new school and a new life in a new city. But now that Gale has followed her across the country and Peeta is living down the street, how will she decide who is right for her? Modern day A/U.
1. First Snow of the Year

_**A/N: **__I'm baaaaaaaa-ack! To anyone reading this that hasn't read the prequel, please stop now and go check out my story 'Under the Setting Sun' before you read this one! _

_So, a minor detail… I ended up keeping this in first person. Feel like this is really about Katniss' journey, so it's best told from her POV. However, I made the mistake of starting Under the Setting Sun in past-tense and I had to keep it that way for continuity but it was hard to be consistent. So I'm doing this in present-tense. I bet no one would've even noticed had I not said anything._

_Special thanks to __**bw1819**__ for letting me run my mouth about everything and nothing, just so I can get this show on the road._

_**Obligatory Disclaimer:**__ I do not own The Hunger Games, its characters, concepts, or any quotes that may be contained in this work. _

* * *

_**Chapter 1: First Snow of the Year**_

I turn the dial on the car stereo system trying to find a station that isn't currently on commercial break. I don't stay on any one channel for more than a couple of seconds. I'm sure it is driving Peeta crazy.

"I wonder just how many people are buying mattresses on a regular basis that would warrant so many commercials," Peeta comments politely. Annoyance is not evident in his tone or his face, convincing me he could feign interest in a box of rocks if he had to.

As Peeta signals to change lanes, I reach up one last time, hoping I'll land on something to preoccupy the thick tension between the two of us. His unsupervised hand darts up to do the same, and for a moment, our fingers entangle. We both retract our hands apologetically as if we had just touched a hot stove. That might as well have been the case based on the dull heat his brief touch left on my fingertips.

What am I thinking? _ I_ made the decision to end things with Peeta. I really wish my body would catch up with my mind.

Peeta concedes and gestures permission for me make the channel selection.

"Sorry that I keep flipping stations." I settle on one playing soft rock and lean back into the passenger's seat.

The duration of the song is spent looking out the window watching the houses flicker by. Neither of us seems to be familiar with the tune playing because we don't sing along, but Peeta drums his thigh with his fingers and taps the foot he's not using to drive.

We're only about two more miles from school, but it feels like an eternity. It doesn't help that we are hitting every single red light possible. The song ends and a new one begins right after it. It sounds vaguely familiar, but soft rock isn't exactly my genre of choice. I'd change the station again, but I don't want to be _that_ person. I'm sure there's some unwritten etiquette about touching someone else's car stereo.

A pedestrian – most likely another student from our school – is crossing the street, so the red light lasts extra long. I begin nervously pulling at the loose threads on the hem of my denim skirt. In the corner of my eye, I catch Peeta looking down at my fidgeting fingers, then dart away quickly when he and I both realize how high up my skirt has slid as I'm in the sitting position. I try to tug it downwards as inconspicuously as possible so as not to embarrass him.

Peeta absentmindedly hums along to the song and I still can't pinpoint why it sounds familiar.

"Why do I feel like I've heard this song before, but I don't really know it?" I ask rhetorically.

He suddenly stops humming. "You don't remember?"

I quickly search through my mental database, still coming up short. "No… should I?"

"I shouldn't be surprised you don't." I get the feeling that was a cutting remark, so I furrow my brows at him. He chuckles to himself. "You were probably too smashed."

I recall the one and only time I had ever gotten drunk. Peeta and Delly had taken me to Madge's house for a party and, being the amateur that I am, I got pretty tipsy off one wine cooler. Come to think of it, I do remember Peeta playing guitar and singing. This same song comes to mind. I redirect my attention back to the tune emanating from the car's speakers.

"_I knew I loved you before I met you_

_I have been waiting all my life…"_

Now that I'm privy to Peeta's secret lifelong crush on me, I'm just now starting to see why he chose to sing me that song, and I'm wishing I hadn't brought it up. I slide my hands under my thighs and fight the urge to turn the dial again. I think Peeta realizes that I've finally grasped the song's significance and mercifully presses another preset button himself.

The talk show is covering its hourly spiel on sleazy Hollywood news – who's dating who, who broke up, who's in rehab, or who had a run-in with the law. Our ears perk up at the mention of Seneca Crane, but they only mention a new director for the upcoming movie, _Nightlock_, he had been slated to direct before his conviction.

"Is it just me or do you still find it kind of _surreal _that we were largely responsible for sending a guy to prison?" Peeta asks.

"All I did was fall ungracefully," I reply. "You're the one that found and turned over the evidence."

We finally pull into the crowded parking lot at Augustus Snow High School after a painfully tense ride. Peeta parks in one of the spaces designated for students with just five minutes before the bell is scheduled to ring. It's our first official day of classes. Yesterday was a half-day of schedule and locker assignments, homeroom orientation, and a pep rally assembly. I'm eager to get out of the car and make my way to my first period when Delly appears at the driver's side window and raps on the glass causing us to jump in alarm.

Peeta grabs his book bag from behind the seat and opens his door to greet our friend.

"Finally! I've been waiting for you a–" she begins to scold Peeta when she notices me inside the jeep. "Well, well, well!"

I raise my hand to greet her. "Hey, Delly."

"It's about time you two kissed and made up!" she assumes. "I was beginning to think I was gonna have to start playing 'Parent Trap' with you two just so I could –"

"Delly!" Peeta interrupts. When she stops talking and looks at him, I see him give a slight shake of the head. She purses her lips in understanding.

I turn to exit the car, sliding down the sides of the leather seats until my feet hit the asphalt.

"So, I'm confused," Delly says as the three of us begin the trek into the campus. "You're not back together, but you're carpooling?"

"Precisely," says Peeta.

She looks disconcertedly at Peeta and me walking on either sides of her. "So one of you is going to have to fill me in because I'm not going to be playing 'child of divorced parents' all year. I want to know what I'm getting into here."

Peeta turns down another hallway. "Well, you're going to have to ask your _mother_, 'cause I have to get to Spanish class. See you guys at lunch."

Delly clutches my arm and begins dragging me to our shared first period English class. "Alright, lady, I know I've been M.I.A. lately since Haymitch up and quit, leaving _me_ to help train the replacement personnel director at the club – which, as you might imagine, is no easy feat without a current director for said replacement personnel – but seriously, between you and Peeta, _someone_ should have at least called me to divulge the details of your fall out, so now that I'm even more confused, you better start spilling – go!"

Wow. I think she might have just said all of that in one sentence. I've missed talking to Delly – no, I've missed Delly talking to me. I never miss having to actually speak.

"Peeta hasn't said anything to you? Aren't you two, like, best friends or something?" I ask her.

"All he told me was that some guy named Gale came here from your hometown and got you all confused. He said you ended things. He doesn't really go into details since I've been so busy with work, but truthfully, I think he just doesn't want to talk about it."

"Can I plea the fifth, too?" I try, but I know Delly won't let me off the hook that easily if the death grip she's putting on my arm is any indication. "Okay, okay. Gale is my best friend from back home. He kissed me before I came out here, and made things all weird…"

Recognition shows on her face. "Aha… so the 'it's complicated' has a name."

"Anyway, after I found out we were staying in California, Gale showed up at my door telling me he got into USC," I continue.

"And the plot thickens," Delly narrates and I laugh at her enthusiasm. "So are you and this Gale guy together now?"

I expect to hear judgment in her tone, but there is none. Just plain old curiosity. "No. It's not like that."

"Then why did you break things off with Peeta?" Ah, there it is. At least, that's how her question makes me feel – riddled with guilt and shame.

We're at the door to our classroom, but Delly pulls me back to make sure I have full opportunity to answer her.

"It's hard to explain." I wring the straps of my backpack and stare down at my sandaled feet.

Delly is uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. I can only guess it is because she's waiting for me to make an attempt at an explanation, but I don't, and like always, she takes the reigns in the conversation.

"I get it. I mean, the dude _kissed_ you. He obviously has some sort of feelings for you and you don't want to hurt him by dating someone else," she puts it simply.

How does she manage to make something that feels so tangled and befuddling in my head sound so elementary? "But _someone_ is always going to get hurt in these types of situations. You can't avoid that altogether."

Our teacher calls us into the classroom just before the bell sounds overhead. We take two adjacent desks in the back of the class. Delly's words resonate with me. _Someone is always going to get hurt._ I know she means Peeta and that thought has plagued me for over a month now. It's not that I didn't realize I'd be hurting Peeta with my decision to end things. It's not that I had wanted to either. I just couldn't hang onto both of them and choosing to let go of Peeta seemed like the path of least resistance.

Besides, I'm not ready for wherever it was we were headed. I don't know that I ever will be, but Peeta was a good friend – a really good friend. When I had made the last-minute decision to end our summer romance, I hadn't quite thought through the probability that our friendship would become a casualty as well. But Gale has always been my faithful, reliable best friend, and somehow I knew that Peeta's and my relationship would interrupt that delicate balance.

A hastily folded notebook paper skids across my desktop. I look up at its sender ducking behind another student, trying to keep off of our teacher's radar. I unfold the sheet to read Delly's perfect cursive written in purple ink.

_So there's something I still don't get…_

_If you and Peeta broke up, what's with the carpool?_

I quickly scribble back: _Believe it or not, we're neighbors._

While Mr. Ferguson is turned around, writing on the whiteboard, I reach my hand over to pass the note back to Delly. She opens it slowly, careful not disrupt the hush of the classroom with the slightest of crinkling sounds.

Delly takes a second to read my note, but I know she's done when she incredulously shouts, "_Shut up!_"

Immediately, Mr. Ferguson and twenty-eight other students whip their necks around to glare at her.

"Excuse me, Miss Cartwright?" he asks pointedly, over his sagging glasses.

"Sorry… I wasn't... that wasn't directed at you. I-I was just… sorry." Delly ducks her bright red face and slinks down into her chair while I cover my mouth to stifle a snicker.

Our class concludes uneventfully. We are about to part ways to our second period, promising to meet up at lunch, when Delly asks, "So, what's the temperature? I mean, can we all have lunch together or is that going to be too awkward?"

I think carefully about my answer. Avoidance has always worked better for me than resolution, but I'm afraid it will result in Peeta and Delly's faithful bonding, and I don't really know anyone else at school. "A little. But we're trying to work through it," I say.

Her face lights up and she replies, "Cool. We usually eat at the tables around the fountain in the quad. See you there!"

* * *

I crumple the brown paper bag in my hand as I scan the quad for Delly and Peeta. Bringing one's own lunch is a bit of a high school faux pas, but since I wasn't familiar with the quality of Snow High's cafeteria food, I decided not to risk it on the first week of school.

As my gaze skims over the area surrounding the large water fountain in the middle, I spot the two of them standing around a crowded table with about a half dozen other students I wasn't familiar with. I'm hesitant to join them. I don't know why I expected them to be eating lunch on their own. They're both well-liked and popular, judging by the company of friends they had at Madge's house party last summer. It only makes sense that they would have an entire clique to surround them.

I'm slow to make my way there, but Delly notices me several yards out and waves me over enthusiastically. When I finally arrive, she grabs my hand and eagerly introduces me to the others. I recognize one of the girls as Thresh's partner and object of affection, Larissa. Another, Trace, is the friend Peeta introduced me to at Madge's party. There are two other guys wearing letterman jackets embroidered with their surnames – Gloss and Chaff - despite the weather still being too warm for jackets, and two girls that went by the names Cashmere and Seeder in Snow Leopards cheerleading uniforms.

"Katniss," Seeder begins to ask. "What school did you come from?"

"Um, I'm actually from Detroit," I answer timidly, still clutching my unopened lunch sack. "My family just moved here recently."

"She and Peeta won the Cornucopia triathlon this summer," Larissa offers. I can't tell if she's genuinely trying to be friendly or if her voice is laced with bitterness at having lost. "Are you two still together?"

This causes the rest of the table to wolf whistle at the thought of us being an item. Peeta and I don't even need to look at each other to know we're both red in the face.

"Are you and Thresh still together?" Delly interjects, sensing we were practically deer caught in the headlights.

Larissa shifts her glare towards Delly. "No. We were just teammates."

"Well, there's your answer." Delly grabs Peeta and me and leads us to a nearby table where their backpacks were already deposited. "That girl needs to keep her nose out of other people's business," she says with a huff as she plops down in front of her tray of cold mashed potatoes.

Peeta and I take our seats in less dramatic fashion. "Del, it's no big deal. It was a fair question. Don't be so hard on her," Peeta says soothingly, but he looks back in Larissa's direction, giving her stunned expression an apologetic smile.

Delly smooths her hair over her shoulder and replies haughtily, "Well, I'm sorry for trying to be helpful. You guys barely answer _my_ questions. I didn't think you'd want to divulge your private lives to people Katniss just met."

I'm truly grateful for Delly's intuition. She's right. I don't want to field questions about Peeta and me, but I think maybe we're making a bigger deal out of it than Larissa would have, and I tell Peeta as much.

He shrugs in defeat, taking a bite of his biscuit to preoccupy himself. "Ugh, these things are so dry," he complains before dunking it into Delly's pool of gravy and she reciprocates by popping one of his tater tots into her mouth.

I unroll the top of the crumpled brown paper and fish out my soggy turkey sandwich. I stare at the wilted lettuce as if it is the most interesting subject matter at the moment, but mostly I'm avoiding the sight of their relaxed rapport. It's a lot like Gale's and mine – easy after years of knowing one another and comforting in its reliability. But here at school, _I'm_ on the outside. The third wheel.

I'm washing down the last bite of the first triangular half with a swig of Dr. Pepper when Peeta holds out a small bag of barbeque potato chips in front of me. I politely decline his offer, but he shakes the bag in front of me insistently.

"C'mon. Even your chewing is too quiet," he jokes. When I reach for a few chips, he looks back in Delly's direction. "So how are your classes so far? Do you like any of them?"

I chase a bite of my sandwich with one of his chips, grateful for the added crunch.

"Well, Katniss and I have Ferguson for English. He's all right, if not a little on the dull side. We're already assigned to read _To Kill a Mockingbird_ which I've read a thousand times, so I guess the hardest part about his class will be to get on his good side," Delly responds.

"I always thought he was the nice teacher. Why wouldn't you be on his good side?" Peeta asks, prompting me to shoot soda out my nose in attempt to suppress my laughter.

I quickly reach for a napkin to absorb the mess I made on my face and table. "Maybe if Delly didn't yell at him to shut up in front of the whole class, she might still be in his good graces."

Peeta shoots an incredulous look at Delly. "I didn't tell _him_ to shut up," she explains. "I was telling Katniss to shut up. I just didn't gauge my volume and timing, that's all."

"Sounds more exciting than my English class," Peeta laments. "Mrs. Goodwyn had us writing about the best thing we did this summer. What is this, third grade?"

Delly laughs and asks, "So what'd you write about?"

The three of us fall silent under the assumption of what he could have possibly written about.

"You know – work, the race, the trial," he sums up casually.

Maybe Peeta was trying to glaze over the obvious, but I couldn't help but feel a little hurt by my notable exclusion. The fact that I'm not considered the "best" part of his summer cuts me to the core, but I know it's unfair of me. I'm the one that left a permanent blotch on what would have otherwise been _our_ best summer to date.

"Well, anyway," Delly so obviously digresses. "I have Señora Martinez for Spanish III, Coach Sloan for P.E., and of course, we have Chemistry together."

"Oh, Delly, how many times do I have to break it to you? You and I have _never _had chemistry together," Peeta jokes.

Delly punches him playfully on the arm and he counters by tickling her rib. I stuff the remains of my sandwich into my mouth and look off towards the splashing fountain, avoiding the awkwardness of my view from the outside.

"Katniss, what classes do you have left?" she asks in attempt to include me in their conversation.

I hold up a finger to signal her to wait a minute while I force the food down my throat. I open my binder to reference the schedule I have taped on the inside cover. "I have Swim next, then U.S. History with Fuller."

"Hey, we have sixth period together!" Peeta declares with more excitement than I think he intended. "I guess I won't have to look for you after school then."

I muster a smile that is followed by the warning bell. The three of us pack up our things and part ways to our fifth period classes. I'm walking alone towards the P.E. department when the crowd of students beside me thins out. Just a couple of feet to my right is Peeta, heading in the same direction as me. We lock eyes for just a second until some hurried group of guys in their signature blue and white jackets push past me, railroading me into Peeta.

"Whoa! Watch where you're going!" he shouts after them then looks back at me. "You all right?"

I nod and hug my binder tighter. "Where are you going now?"

"I'm going to weight training. The weight room is right across the pool," he says, pointing in the direction I was heading. "Mind some company?"

I sort of do mind, but I don't want to tell him so. The lunch awkwardness can be a bit stifling, and I was looking forward to some time away from him before our class and ride home together. But I don't want to make a bigger deal of his presence than I ought to, so I let him keep step with me as we wordlessly make our way to our respective locker rooms.

* * *

After swim, I quickly shower and change, then braid my wet hair down my back. I only have ten minutes between periods to change and trek across campus to my history class. I'm in such a hurry, I don't even care that my exposed legs are ashy and my braid is soaking the back of my shirt.

I'm breathless by the time I reach my classroom, but I'm relieved to find that Peeta has not arrived yet. I find a seat at the back corner of the class, already surrounded by other students to ensure Peeta won't sit next to me. I justify this thinking by telling myself I ought to meet other people and not just rely on Delly and Peeta to babysit me through the remainder of high school, but if I'm to be honest, I'm just as content to be a loner.

"Hey! Katniss, right?" The picture-perfect blonde to my left says.

"Oh, hi. Cashmere, was it?" I didn't even realize it was her when I chose this seat. Now I'm afraid Peeta will still sit nearby since I've picked a seat next to his friend.

"So how do you know Delly and Peeta?" she asks.

I'm about to tell her that Peeta is a friend from Detroit, but I'm afraid that would just raise more questions. Instead, I answer, "We all worked at Sunset Shores Country Club this summer."

"Awesome." Cashmere's attention is averted when the jock sitting in front of her turns around and asks her about some party she's having.

I tune out at that point, not wanting to eavesdrop on their conversation. I probably should have chosen my desktop to stare at instead of the door because as I do, Peeta walks in, also freshly showered, and scans the room for an open seat. His eyes meet mine, but since there were no open seats in my vicinity, he takes one three rows over.

Mr. Fuller, our history teacher, spends the first half hour of class on some weird ice breaker activity where we introduce ourselves and share something we like or enjoy doing that begins with the same letter as our first name. He snakes up and down through each row, giving each student an opportunity to share. I'm last so, even though I have plenty of time to think through my answer, I am also the last to get her part over with.

"My name is Peeta and I like…" he considers his answer for a few seconds. "To bake _pastries._"

The guys in the class snicker to themselves and I find myself mentally defending Peeta as I remember how delicious his baked goods actually are. Others give their superficial answers – Leon like the ladies, Marley like watching movies, Cashmere likes… cashmere. At one point, I actually have to bury my face to hide my involuntary eye roll.

"Um, I'm Katniss and I like…" Mr. Fuller has gotten to me much faster than I anticipated and I still haven't come up with anything relevant that begins with the letter 'k.'

My teacher and classmates are beginning to throw out suggestions just to get the exercise over and done with.

"Kangaroos?" Mr. Fuller offers and I shake my head.

"Karate!" My brows furrow in confusion at another student's suggestion.

"Kites!"

"Cats!" Cashmere suggests and we all stare at her in disbelief. Her neighbor leans over to whisper in her ear then she perks up and changes her suggestion. "I mean, kittens."

Either way, I remember Buttercup, a stray cat Prim had kept around our apartment building by feeding it scraps of her food. I hated that thing.

"Kayaking?"

"Kissing." I recognize Peeta's voice even though he keeps his eyes trained on the book he's scribbling on.

My face flushes. The brutish boys in the class slap his back to congratulate him for, what, a great answer? It's a good thing he's not sitting near me because I would have already punched him for sure.

"Kids," I answer quickly to dispel the excessive amount of attention I am getting. Thankfully, Mr. Fuller moves on to discussing his syllabus.

When class is over, I know I'm supposed to ride home with Peeta, but after his little jab at me, I'm really not in the mood to talk or walk with him. I make a beeline for my locker to deposit my textbooks and pack up my homework before I unenthusiastically head to the parking lot to meet my obligatory driver.

I find him leaning against the passenger door of his Jeep with his arms crossed, chatting with Chaff and Seeder. When he looks up at me, the two companions follow his gaze and wave politely at me before walking away. Peeta stands up and pulls the door handle for me with overly apologetic chivalry.

"Where'd you go?" he asks. I hop into the passenger's side and buckle my seatbelt without dispensing a single word in response. Peeta shuts the door gently and walks around to his side. Once he's planted in his seat, he studies me and says, "Are you going to speak to me?"

I clutch my backpack to my chest protectively. "Nope. Not if you're going to make petty remarks in front of everyone."

"Look, I'm sorry," he says somewhat insincerely. "It was just a joke."

I shoot him an indignant scowl. "Then in that case, it was passive aggressive, and if you're going to be mad at me, at least man up and just say so!"

"I'm _not_ mad at you!" he shouts back. "I'm just…" Peeta combs back his hair and clenches it in frustration. "You know what? Forget it."

He throws on his seatbelt and starts the ignition. The drive back home is silent save for the ambient sound of the radio station we had left on from this morning. Neither of us bother channel surfing since we're not listening to it anyway. Peeta stops in front of my house, but doesn't shift his gaze in my direction, let alone offer a 'goodbye.'

Once I'm safely outside the jeep, I turn back and tell him, "I don't think I'll need a ride tomorrow. My mom can probably take me in the morning." I don't know for sure if this is true, but at this point, a five-mile walk seems more appealing than another tension-filled carpool.

"Fine," he mutters, his petulance rivaling my own.

I slam the passenger door shut and turn to walk into my house. I'm too proud to look back, but the roar of the accelerator tells me he's in a hurry to put three houses between us. And just like that, we've gone two baby steps forward and one giant step back.

* * *

_**A/N #2 – **__Just a heads up about updates. I spoiled you a little in the latter half of USS because I had the story direction solid at that point. But the beginning of the story is always a little slow for me, still trying to figure things out, work out the kinks and untangle my brainstorm, so please be patient. I'll __**try**__ to post at least once a week, but I can't promise. Especially as a mom – life happens._


	2. A State of Equilibrium

_**A/N – **__Can I just take a second to poke fun at my own cover photo for this fic? It's such a Nicholas Sparks movie poster wannabe! Lol Ok, I'm not so creative with photoshop, so it's kind of sad that I try. _

_Moving on….thank you for all the wonderful reviews, alerts, and favorites! I am forever grateful to my readers for making me feel less like a closeted dork for writing this stuff! _

* * *

_**Chapter 2: A State of Equilibrium**_

"How's everything going with school?" I ask, handing Gale the last of the empty dinner plates after our weekly meal.

He takes the dishes and adds them to the generous pile in the sink that he was rinsing off before loading into the dishwasher. "Well, Calculus is kicking my butt and the professor's a major douche, but other than that, pretty good." One of his sleeves slides down his wrist and I reach out to catch it before it gets wet. I push the cuff back up under his elbows and do the same for the other side as a preventative measure. Gale smiles to thank me. "I'm still trying to get in shape and learn the playbook for football before they'll let me play. I might actually get in a couple plays next week."

"Cool," I reply, genuinely happy for him. "So we can finally see you in a Trojan uniform?"

"I don't know, are you coming out to the game?" he asks raising his eyebrows in hopefulness.

I nudge him with my elbow. "Of course. I wouldn't miss it for the world. I'm sure Prim and Rue can paint a couple 'Go #9' signs for you."

"With glitter and everything?" he asks with mock excitement.

We share an easy laugh like old times. It took a while for me to let my guard down again with him. I was afraid to be too friendly and affectionate towards him for fear I was inviting him to kiss me again. I won't lie and say that the idea never crosses my mind. After a summer of making out heavily and freely with Peeta, I kind of miss the sensation of lips pressed against mine. I have to admit that the thought of someone kissing me doesn't scare me like it did when Gale surprised me last June. Part of me wonders what it would be like to kiss him now – to reciprocate the motions and permit it to last long enough to process it. But that part of me is put aside while the rational side wrestles with the probability of it just being _weird._ Truthfully, I just don't want to disturb this delicate balance I've finally achieved.

Gale and I are finally getting in the rhythm of our usual dynamic. I'm able to laugh with him again, talk to him with ease, hang out without questioning his intentions. He's finally able to talk to me without the passive aggression.

"How's school going for you?" he reciprocates. "Make any new friends?"

Gale asking this question is somewhat of a joke. He knows me to be closed off and aloof which is why he was basically my only real friend back in Detroit. For the most part, it is still true. I'm not exactly Miss Congeniality, but after spending an entire summer away from home, living and working at the Sunset Shores Country Club, I didn't really have much choice but to make new friends. I have to admit that was much easier to open up without my crutch – that is, Gale – to keep me complacent. Not to mention, Peeta's presence.

My response is abstract at best. "I made a couple friends this summer that go to my new school."

Gale nods with recognition as he presses the appropriate buttons to start the dishwasher. "That Peter guy? Does he go to the same school as you?"

"Peet-_a_. Like the flatbread," I clarify, prompting Gale to let out a snort. "And don't you dare tease him with that!" I pause to let Gale finish chuckling. "But yes, he goes to my school."

His expression evolves into a pensive one. "So I meant to ask – what's his story anyway? I mean, how come he lives here while his family is still back in Detroit?"

I squirm in my seat at the kitchen counter. For obvious reasons, I don't want to discuss Peeta with Gale. For one thing, it's not my place to talk about Peeta's family issues. And for another, I simply do not trust my face to keep my residual feelings about Peeta a secret from Gale, whatever feelings those may be. Even if, right now, it feels a lot like annoyance, I'm still on the fence about what I think of Peeta.

"They just had some family problems," I reply vaguely. Gale seems to catch on that it's none of his business, but I could see a flash of hurt at my evasiveness. He knows I'm being unusually protective of Peeta. Discussing other people has never been off limits for us. No other relationships were more sacred than the one Gale and I share, so anything outside of us was fair game. My unwillingness to talk about him is not insignificant to Gale. I attempt to move away from the topic of Peeta. "I've also met a couple girls at Sunset Shores. Delly goes to my school. Unfortunately, Madge goes to a private school."

Gale scoffs condescendingly. "Are you serious? You actually made friends at that pretentious country club where you stayed all summer? What, are you BFF's with Paris Hilton now, too?"

I wince at his apparent prejudice. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I've known Gale long enough to know about his resentment for the upper class. He's said things like this countless times and I've even echoed his sentiment on occasion. Obviously, the majority of the people I met over the summer at the club aren't a far cry from Gale's or my expectations, but there were are few – like Delly, Madge, Thresh, Rue, and even Effie Trinket – who are truly kind and decent people despite their trust funds and bank accounts.

"Oh, come on, Catnip," he says in disbelief. "Don't you remember those stuck up girls back home making fun of your K-Mart jeans and your thrift store shoes? What now? Just because your grandparents bought you some new clothes and put you up in a nice house, those people are going to judge you less harshly?"

"The only one being judgmental here is you," I bite back. "Having money doesn't make a person beneath you any more than _not_ having money does."

Gale's shoulders fall as he nods in concession. "Okay. You're right. I'm sorry."

"I would think you, of all people, would trust my taste in friends," I say to lighten the mood.

"I don't know… that guy you used to hang out with is kind of a jerk," he replies self-deprecatingly. I punch his arm and smile as a token of my forgiveness. "All right. I should get a move on," he announces, pushing himself off the counter he was leaning against. "I have a paper to write for Sociology. Need to spend some quality time at the library tonight."

"Ugh. I should really save up for a computer," I lament. "And internet service, for that matter. It doesn't help that school is becoming more technology-based and we don't have the means to keep up."

Gale unfurls his sleeves before slipping his arms into his jacket. "You're always welcome to come use the campus library with me. I don't mind the company."

I give a noncommittal shrug. "Yeah, sure. Sometime."

"Thanks again for dinner. Your mom's roast beef rocks. Tell her I'm sorry I missed her." Gale leans in to hug me. When he pulls away, he cranes his neck to shout towards the upstairs. "Prim! Rue! I'm leaving now!"

Frantic footsteps accompanied by giggles immediately ensue Gale's announcement. The two girls come bounding down the stairs to say goodbye to him. Prim leaps from the third step into Gale's arms.

"Bye, Gale," Rue says bashfully, half hiding behind me.

"See ya next week, girls," Gale promises before opening the front door.

"I'll walk you out," I offer, following him to the old car he purchased for a measly $500. "I think Rue's got a little crush on you," I tease him once I'm sure the girls are out of earshot.

Gale gives his collar a pop. "Well, I do have a way of charming the ladies, y'know."

"Hmm… let me know how that works out for you," I joke before I have a chance to stop myself.

Our laughter is forced and nervous. I can see Gale bite back the urge to make a sarcastic jab, but thankfully, he opts out and turns to unlock his car door instead.

"So I guess I'll see you guys next week?" he says as he settles into the squeaky driver's seat.

I push his door closed and lean on the window opening. "As long as you're doing the dishes, we'll have food."

The car coughs and sputters a couple of times before Gale's attempts at starting the engine finally work. He waves one last time as he backs up and drives away. I watch until the one working taillight is out of view then take the opportunity to bring the trashcan out to the curb for tomorrow morning's pick up. As I'm dragging the bulky receptacle down the driveway, a panting dog and his owner emerge from the shadows of the hedges.

"Whoa, slow down, boy!"

I stop short of the sidewalk, careful not to run into the oncoming wanderers.

"Oh!" I exclaim as the dog circles my legs, wrapping me up in its leash. Its owner quickly grabs hold of me to keep me from tipping over. The trashcan, however, is not spared and its metal surface makes a clang loud enough to trigger other dogs in the neighborhood to bark in chorus. "Peeta?"

"Sorry about that," he replies with embarrassment. "He's not fully trained yet."

After Peeta helps me unravel myself from the leash, I kneel down to scratch the dog behind the ears as he tries to lick my face.

"Who's this little guy?" I ask, utilizing the only third party to deflect attention away from our awkward encounter. "When did you get a dog?"

Peeta kneels down beside me to stroke the dog's back. "I didn't. He's my uncle's."

"Haymitch got a pet?" I say incredulously. "He doesn't even know how to take care of himself."

He lets out a sarcastic chuckle. "Tell me about it. Why do you think _I'm_ the one out walking him?"

"So does he have a name or was Haymitch too lazy to do that too?" I ask.

"Goose."

"_Goose_? He named a dog Goose?" I laugh.

Peeta shrugs. "My uncle's a _Top Gun_ fan."

"He couldn't go with Maverick?" Goose rolls onto his back, inviting me to scratch his belly. Peeta and I laugh as we both indulge the eager puppy. "So what kind of dog is he?"

"I'm not really sure," he answers. "Some kind of mutt. Looks like he's got some poodle or something in him."

"He's adorable," I say, tapering off the conversation.

I'm really happy that Peeta and I are at least able to speak cordial words again. I rode with him only one other time last week when he had passed me walking to school one drizzly morning. My righteous indignation refused the offer, but his threat to slowly follow me the rest of the way eventually cracked my resolved. It was slightly awkward at first. He did most, if not all, of the talking in the car. There are only so many things to say about the first week of school, which was pretty much the safest subject matter he could come up with to talk about. We spent a lot of time listening intently to the morning talk show on the radio, trying to grasp something we could comment on. We continued to spend lunch together after our argument since Delly was my only other friend and we didn't want to put her in the middle of it. Thankfully, Delly has enough to say to monopolize the majority of our half hour lunch period. When Peeta insisted on taking me home that day, he exhausted every possible comment he could muster about our mutual U.S. History class - the Revolutionary War, Mr. Fuller's lisp, and the upcoming group assignment.

The biggest issue isn't the speaking though. Peeta's always been good at that. Whether or not he enjoys it, he's always been able to carry a conversation. I know it's selfish, but what I miss the most is the way he used to look at me – the sparkle in his eyes, the admiration, the joy. If he bothers looking at me at all, his glances are distant and always fleeting.

I honestly don't know what he saw in me in the first place. It was just some silly childhood fantasy. He thought I was that little girl in the Wizard of Oz school play, happily singing because her life was actually _really_ good at the time. But other than that, what reason did he have to be in love with me? The pedestal is a tough place to fall from. It's even worse when you don't know how you earned the spot there to begin with, let alone how to claw your way back.

Maybe it's better this way. Maybe, once we can get over the hump of hurt feelings, Peeta and I can build a real friendship on who we really are, not who we want the other to be. No expectations. No misconceptions.

"Did we have any homework for history?" I ask, reverting back to our default topic. "I left my textbook in my locker."

Peeta tugged on Goose's leash to keep him out of the rose bed. "Yeah, we just had to read a chapter and answer the questions at the end."

"Oh," I reply, shoving my hands into my back pockets. "Well, I guess I'm out of luck since I don't have my book."

"You're welcome to borrow mine," he offers without hesitation. "I'm already finished with it anyway – _Goose! No, don't eat those!_ – Sorry. I need to bring this guy back home. You wanna come get the book?"

I look back towards my house, debating whether I should follow Peeta back to his or go back in and check on the girls. I know they're all right. They're likely to be up in Prim's room looking at magazines and talking about cute boy band types. And really, they are also both technically old enough to be left alone at home. But for some reason, I want to tell Peeta that I can't go to his house.

Maybe it's that same feeling I got the first time Delly took me to Peeta's room at the country club – like it's this intimate space reserved only for the innermost circle of friends, a place from which I've unofficially resigned. Or maybe it's just the prospect of seeing Haymitch and exposing myself to his surliness. Either way, my feet don't move from their spot on my driveway.

"Are you coming?" Peeta turns back to ask, already trailing behind his canine companion. He seems to detect my apprehension. "Katniss, I don't bite."

"I beg to differ," I quip, my face flushing deep red when I realize the boundary I've just disregarded. There's nothing to say except to just laugh nervously at my slip.

"Hold on," he says lightly. "How is it okay for you to make a joke about kissing me, but it wasn't okay for me?"

"Because I didn't say it in front of the whole class." It really isn't okay for either of us, but making a joke about it is just my indirect way of saying I'm not really that mad about it anymore.

Goose starts tugging on the leash again. "Are you coming over or would you rather I just bring the book back here?" he offers.

I shake my head in surrender. "No, I'll come. I don't want to make you walk back and forth."

We cover the distance of the two houses between ours in comfortable silence. I follow him up the lighted pavement towards the front porch, but when Peeta opens the front door, I hang back. Peeta takes notice and doesn't question my desire not to go inside, so he and Goose enter without me. He leaves the front door ajar and I can hear Haymitch's off-key crooning to an Earth, Wind & Fire song coming from a far room.

"What canary did you swallow?" I hear Peeta's distant voice ask his uncle.

"Got a call for an audition, actually," Haymitch replies, surprisingly ungarbled by inebriation.

"Oh gosh, it's not a singing part, is it?" I laugh as Peeta's question mirrors my own thoughts.

Their voices become less distinct as they head upstairs, so I wait alone in the brisk evening air. A few minutes later, Peeta's heavy footsteps come hurdling back down the stairs. He opens the door and hands me the history book, wrapped in brown paper already covered in doodle drawings. Only, they aren't the lazy doodling of the typical student zoned out in class. Peeta's book cover looks like an undiscovered DaVinci sketch.

"Wow, is there anything you can't do?" I say, marveling at his handiwork.

Peeta shrugs off the compliment. "Swim."

I nod, remembering the drowning incident where Peeta was nearly lost for good. The memory triggers a lump in my throat and a melting pot of emotions I'm just not in the mood to untangle right now.

"Well, thank you for the book." I hug the book to my chest, shielding myself from the light breeze that has picked up. "I'll give it back to you in the morning."

"Sure," he says, wedging himself between the door and the frame. I'm down the front steps and almost to his driveway when he calls. "Katniss?"

I look over my shoulder towards the silhouette in the light of the doorway. "Yeah?"

"Look, I'm sorry." He pauses and I try to figure out what he needs to be sorry for. He steps out onto the porch, hugging and scratching his arms like he doesn't know what else to do with them. "I-I don't want to go on like this – tiptoeing around everything that happened this summer. It happened and I don't regret it. But I thought if I stopped being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at just being friends."*

"Weren't we?" I ask even though I know what he's really trying to say.

"No, we were being _neighborly,_" he clarifies. "I mean being able to talk about real stuff during the car ride and not just the Top 10 Celebrity Baby Names or whatever trivial thing the radio talk show is discussing. I mean having the ability to come into each other's homes and ask to borrow books or movies or sugar. I'm talking about being able to walk the dog past your house without having to wait for Gale to leave just to avoid the awkward encounter. I just want to be okay with it."

Embarrassment hits me like a tidal wave at what Peeta has just revealed, but then I realize he's right. "Yeah. I want to be okay with it, too."

I've been trying to keep my two worlds separate and I'm no good at being genuine to both. I know I've hurt Peeta and the guilt will always be there in some way, shape, or form, but at least with him, he knows what Gale is to me. I don't have to justify Gale's presence to Peeta. But until I'm sure Gale's and my relationship could survive the truth, Peeta will always be a taboo between us.

"If you think about it, once upon a time, I would've done anything just to have you look in my direction. I guess being friends with you is still a pretty sweet deal," he admits to me. "Mostly, I just want you to be free to be happy… no matter who you're with."

"You know, I don't have to be _with _anybody to be happy," I reason.

He bows his head in defeat.

"No, you don't." He looks like he has more to add, but he decides against it.

Silence hangs between us for a few moments before I quietly admit, "I do miss you." I quickly add for clarification, "Our friendship, I mean.

"Yeah." Peeta's eyes search mine. "So, friends?"

"Friends."

* * *

_* Excerpt taken from Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins, pg. 51_

_**Random Overshare: **__Just bought my husband a new guitar for Christmas and I'm totally putting a note that says, "That is MAHOGANY!" teehee_


	3. All the World is a Stage

_**Thank you again SO MUCH for your amazing response and for the favorites and alerts! I'm now posting-as-I-write (no more reserve chapters), so I apologize in advance if I don't always update frequently. I'll do my best, but with the holidays coming up, I must also go and join the land of the living! :)**_

* * *

_**Chapter 3: All the World is a Stage**_

I've decided that French is completely useless here. It made some sense when I took it in Michigan and we were so close to Canada, but who needs to know French in southern California? I would have preferred to take Spanish like Peeta and Delly, but the transcripts from my old school landed me squarely back in French class exchanging impractical phrases about taking a train and ordering food from the dining car.

"Puis-je avoir deux tartes?" I ask in an almost unrecognizable French accent.

"Oui. Nous avons tarte aux pommes et tarte aux cerises," my partner, Annie, answers softly.

Annie is sweet and quiet. She's the only person in my French class that I can actually tolerate because, unlike the rest of our classmates, she doesn't try to say everything in a sexy, flirtatious tone as if the foreign language was a verbal pheromone. We don't say much to each other, but the best part is that the silence doesn't seem to bother either of us.

We also have swim class together and we are the only two girls in the Advanced Level group. I find it surprising that so few girls in a coastal city can swim well, but judging by the way they sit on the edge of the pool sporting expensive designer bikinis that are entirely too skimpy and embellished for the types of exercises we perform in class, they're probably not there to hone their swimming skills. Besides, if the guys in class knew they could swim, they wouldn't have any need to carry them around the pool the way they do.

I don't know much else about Annie except that she's got a mean butterfly stroke and she is good enough at French to study abroad, which she hopes to do next summer before her senior year. I don't know who she hangs out with outside of our two shared classes and I've never bother asking her to join our lunch group, which fluctuates on a daily basis but consistently includes my only two real friends.

Annie and I are in the middle of giving directions to the sleeping car when our teacher hangs up the classroom phone and walks in our direction.

"Katniss, the office called," she says to me. "They need you to go to Principal Snow's office."

I look at Annie with confusion then back to Ms. Arquette. "Right now?"

Our teacher nods and I shrug as I pack up my belongings into my backpack. I tell Annie I'll see her in swim class if I don't come back to French, collect the homework assignment from Ms. Arquette, and head down the main hall towards the administration wing.

One would think I'd be excited to be excused from a mundane class, but the prospect of being summoned to the principal's office is not exactly a desirable tradeoff, especially when that principal is Mr. Snow. I've never personally met him before. He was at the orientation meeting we attended before the school year began, as well as the back-to-school assembly, but I did not speak with him or shake his hand. I don't have any major issues with authority. Whatever transgressions I might have had back in Detroit – most notably, truancy – usually went under the radar and nowhere near my permanent records. But from what I hear, Mr. Snow is strict and conservative and rules the school with the same old-fashioned ideals and methods as his grandfather – the founding namesake of our school – Augustus Snow whose ominous presence is felt in the marble statue erected in his honor in the front of the school and the comically large portrait painting hanging in the foyer of the auditorium.

Mr. Coriolanus Snow, like his notable ancestor, is not pleasant to look at either. True to his name, he has pale, sagging skin despite the 329 days of sunshine this city receives, and a crown of snowy white hair. His gray and white eyebrows are angled and bushy in a menacing scowl and his lips, almost always pressed into a straight, unemotional line, are far too puffy to be natural. But his most repulsive of qualities I wouldn't discover until the door to his large, wood-paneled office is opened to me, and it sucks me in and engulfs me. At first I think the overwhelming odor is a badly formulated air freshener, but I soon discover, as I approach our school's head, that the pungent, artificial smell of roses and – what is that – _blood_ is actually emanating from the man himself.

"Miss Everdeen, please, have a seat," he invites me to one of the tufted leather chairs sitting across his desk.

I reluctantly settle into the seat, taking shallow breaths to avoid taking in too much of the overpowering scent. I'm about to ask the principal what the nature of his summons is when the door opens again and Peeta walks in with none other than Effie Trinket. I cock my head at the sight of them, unsure of who I'm more surprised to see.

"Effie? Peeta?" I ask. "What are you guys doing here?"

"I'm not really sure," Peeta answers, plopping down on the chair beside me. "Effie just came and kidnapped me from Chem class. I'm not complaining."

Effie comes around and leans on Principal Snow's desk. "Don't worry, you two aren't in any trouble."

"Not that I'm not happy to see you, Effie, but I'm just really confused as to why you're at our school," I say.

Mr. Snow clears his throat. "As you two might be aware, your victory in this summer's Cornucopia race has earned your school – _our _school – a large portion of the grant towards performing arts."

"Yes," Effie interjected. "And as the interim proprietor of the foundation's funds, I'm here to oversee the implementation of the grant."

The Principal seems to be suppressing his annoyance with Effie's interruption. "A portion of the grant has already been allocated toward the band and choir, however, we currently do not have any drama program here at Snow High…"

"So I've taken it upon myself," Effie cut in again. "To find a suitable director and promote a pilot program here at your school."

"So what does this have to do with Katniss and me?" asks Peeta.

Effie and Snow look at each other as if checking who will take the reigns next. The former cowers at the latter's harsh glare.

"We thought that you and Miss Everdeen would be the perfect candidates to take part in the theater program, and help spread the word to others in our student body," Snow informs us.

Effie, unable to withhold her two cents, adds, "And to be completely honest, the foundation's reputation has taken a bit of a hit due to Seneca Crane's indiscretion. While I don't condone his actions, I do wholeheartedly believe the Cornucopia Project serves the community well and I would hate to see it go to waste, so I was thinking…"

"You were thinking, if Peeta and I participated in your program, we'd be showing that we don't have any hard feelings?" I infer.

"Precisely."

I drop my face into my hands and shake my head in disbelief of the situation I now find myself in. This triathlon has only proven to be a very large thorn in my side.

"I only joined that race because I'm good at cycling and swimming. I'm not good at drama!"

"Dear, you're in high school. _Everyone_ in high school is good at drama," Effie says teasingly though I don't miss her patronizing tone.

"I don't know," Peeta says looking at me. "It sounds like it could be sort of fun."

I roll my eyes. "For you, maybe. You'd be good at it."

Principal Snow grabs a file folder that is sitting on his desk and opens it to reference something. "Miss Everdeen, your transcript is showing that you are severely lacking in elective credits. Unless you plan on spending next summer fulfilling your deficiency, I'm afraid you may not have enough to graduate next year."

"And you should never underestimate elective credits when it comes to college applications," Effie adds.

Peeta places a hand on my arm. "Hey, there are worse ways to fulfill your requirement. I'll be there, at least."

I never thought I'd get backed into a corner by the likes of Principal Snow, Effie Trinket, and Peeta Mellark. It is a repressive feeling that makes my head pound. I take a deep breath to cleanse my thoughts, but the smell of blood and roses assaults my senses. I just need to get out of here.

"Fine," I surrender. "Where and when?"

"Oh, goody!" Effie claps her hands. "We will have a brief meeting after school in the auditorium so you can meet the director and the other future thespians!"

"Wait, what others?" asks Peeta.

I stand to begin making my escape out the door, desperate for fresh air.

"Well, it was only fair to include the past winners of the triathlon that still attend this school. There are also a few students that are members of the local youth theater we've invited to join as well," Effie informs us as the bell sounds outside. "But you'll meet them all after school. See you two then!"

Without another word, I yank open the heavy door and stumble out, my lungs heaving as if I had been trapped in a smoky inferno. Peeta comes up behind me and places a concerned hand on my shoulder.

"You okay?" he asks and I nod in reply. "Does this drama thing really have you that anxious? I mean, if you're going to have panic attacks over it, maybe it's not worth the credits."

I lead us out of the main office and down the hall towards the quad. "No, it's not that. I just… gosh, did you catch a whiff of Snow's office? I think the Queen of Hearts might have died in there!"

"Yeah, I think Principal Snow must shower in roses or something," he laughs. "So what do you think of this new theater program?"

I dodge a couple of oncoming students that wedge their way between Peeta and me. "I'm sure I'm going to suck at it, but I guess we'll just have to wait and see."

Peeta holds the door leading out to the quad open for me and I accept his gesture. "I happen to know, first hand, that you are a very convincing actress."

I whip back around to face him, my eyes narrowing in anger. "What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?" His face is stunned as he cowers for a moment from my wrath. "So now you think that I was just _acting _like I cared about you? Gosh, when are you ever go—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" He has his hands held up to both surrender and to stop my tirade. "Down, girl! I didn't mean anything by it. I was just referring to the Wizard of Oz play we did as kids, okay?"

"Oh," I reply stupidly. My face feels like it's on fire and I hang my head in humiliation. "I'm such a jerk. I'm sorry, I just –"

There's really nothing I can say to justify my outburst. After everything Peeta and I have been through and how hard he's been trying to put it all behind us and just be friends, here I am still throwing accusations at him. I'm feeling like the lowest scum of the earth and I want to just melt into the ground right about now.

But instead, Peeta – being the kind-hearted guy that he is – still finds a way to put aside the hurt feelings when he says, "It's all right. I'll just chalk it up to PMS."

Though I chuckle along with him, shame isn't a strong enough word for what I feel. _"You could live a hundred lifetimes and not deserve him."*_ Haymitch's cutting words reverberate in my mind. I would take offense except that I seem to be proving him right every chance I get. Here I am making Peeta feel like he doesn't deserve my affections. Like he's not worthy enough to choose over Gale or even myself. But in actuality, it is _me_ that is undeserving of his goodness. I am selfish and broken and irresolute and Peeta deserves far better than that.

* * *

His contemptuous glare catches me when I cross the threshold and follows me as I span the large foyer towards the auditorium. I don't smell blood and roses with him, only the combination of old wood and varnish. His hair is shorter and he wears a pair of glasses on the tip of his nose, but other than that, this could be a portrait of his grandson, our reigning principal. I duck quickly through the second set of double doors to escape the ominous face that stands guard over the building.

Inside, a small group is gathered in the front row. Peeta is seated next to a girl with short, spiky hair and a series of metal studs lining the perimeter of her ears. A couple of seats over are three other very serious faces that appear to have no interest in anything but the stage in front of them. As I approach, the spiky-haired girl eyes me with unprovoked annoyance to which I respond with my own grimace. I take a seat on the other side of Peeta and do my best to strike up conversation with him just for the sheer satisfaction of drawing his attention away from her.

"Hey," I say to Peeta. "Is this everyone, you think?"

"Hey, Katniss. Glad you made it," Peeta replies. He turns back to the obnoxious girl and says, "Have you met Johanna?"

She rolls her eyes at me.

"No, I haven't had the pleasure," I respond cynically.

"Umm, yes, you have," she sneers then adds under her breath, "brainless."

Peeta goes on, ignoring our obvious disdain for one another. "I don't know if you remember, but Johanna and Finnick were last summer's triathlon winners."

"Finnick?"

"You called?" a deep voice says from behind as its owner comes around and sidles up next to me. He folds down the theater cushion and settles himself before leaning over the armrest into my personal territory. "Skittles?"

He rattles the red bag of candy in my face. "No, thanks."

"Why, are you watching your figure or something?" Finnick's lecherous voice replies, eying me up and down. "'Cause I'll watch it for you, if you'd like."

"Really, Finnick?" Johanna butts in. "Could you keep it in your pants for two seconds?"

I hear Peeta snicker and I nudge his elbow off the armrest with mine, causing his face to fall against my shoulder. I now have two guys syphoning my share of oxygen and they both seem to enjoy the discomfort their proximity gives me. Thankfully, a round, middle aged man saunters in from backstage, calling our attention to him.

In a distinct British accent, he introduces himself as Plutarch Heavensbee, the appointed Drama Club director.

I raise my hand to catch his attention. "Umm, Mr. Heavensbee, I'm sorry. Will this meeting be long?"

He reaches into his lapel to check the time on his old fashioned pocketwatch. "No, no. I do have another meeting to attend after this, so it will just be brief."

Mr. Heavensbee continues onto his spiel about the importance of the dramatic arts. The three other students, who I am going to guess are the members of the youth theater company Effie had mentioned, nod their heads enthusiastically in agreement with our director. Peeta tries to pay attention while Johanna picks at the dirt under her nails and Finnick tosses Skittles into his mouth.

"…We will be meeting immediately after school on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays for an hour or so each day," Mr. Heavensbee says. "We will be working on various acting and speech exercises. Eventually, once we have a good, solid group, we can begin working on a big play to perform for the public."

I tilt my wrist to check the time on my watch. 4:10 PM.

Peeta leans over to whisper to me. "Do you need to go somewhere soon? I can give you a ride if you're in a hurry."

I lean in towards him. "Just home," I answer in the same hushed tone. "My family promised Gale we'd go to his first game tonight."

He nods and I can't help but notice his hardened expression and clenched jaw when he turns his attention back to Mr. Heavensbee and locks his eyes on him.

Note to self: Mentioning Gale is not on the list for friendly conversation topics between Peeta and me.

* * *

My mother, Prim, Rue, and I brave the boisterous crowd to watch Gale's debut performance as a USC Trojan. #9 is only in for a few plays the entire game – one of which is a dropped pass - but he is able to contribute a couple of key blocks. It is refreshing to see him in uniform and running around the field again. Like the pool is my haven, the football field is his.

True to their word, Rue and Prim had made glittery signs to cheer on Gale and his team. When he is in formation, we wave around the signs and scream until our throats go raw. When he is off the field, we fill the time with nachos, hot dogs, and soda. We are not traditionally fans of football as a sport, but we are certainly fans of Gale, and want nothing but for him to succeed in what he loves doing the most. Besides, we are all the family he has here.

As the game clock winds down, we watch Gale pace on the sidelines, raring for another Trojan victory. He turns in our direction and searches the stands to locate us in the seats he provided. When his eyes meet mine, I raise my hand to wave enthusiastically at him prompting the two girls to mimic me. I'm about to put my hand down when I notice a couple, two rows in front of us, doing the same thing in his direction. I'm ready to dismiss it, thinking they're probably just waving at someone else, when the girl cups her hands in front of her mouth and shouts, "Woooo! Go Gale!"

I study her and her companion for a moment, trying to figure out if I know who they are or not. I know it's highly unlikely since I haven't met any of Gale's friends from school. Come to think of it, Gale hasn't talked much about other people from school and I just figured he hadn't gotten close enough to anyone for them to be noteworthy. It wouldn't be too farfetched since Gale and I are both alike in that we aren't extremely sociable people. He did mention a roommate by the name of Thom, but since Gale spends what little down time he has at our house, I haven't had a chance to visit his dorm and meet his roommate. I come to the conclusion that the man is likely Thom and woman is, perhaps, Thom's girlfriend.

The game clock ticks down to zero and the field floods with players and coaching staff alike reaching out to shake hands with the opposing team. The thousands of fans in the stands already begin filing out, but we are amongst the few that stay put. I keep my eye on the couple as they shimmy through the narrow row of seats then down the steps towards the railing that borders the field.

Gale finishes the conciliatory exercise and jogs his way back to our side of the stadium, sporting a wide, boyish grin on his face. I nudge my companions to follow me as I lead them down to meet Gale. As suspected, I find him chatting excitedly with the other couple who is clearly there for Gale's sake as well. I'm drawing closer to where they are gathered when I catch sight of the girl's hand stroking Gale's arm and, if I'm not imagining things, squeezing his biceps. I note that Gale's face seems unfazed by her gesture and the man she's with doesn't seem bothered at all by it.

"Gale!" Prim shouts to him even though we are still a whole flight of stairs away.

She pushes past me, hauling Rue along with her as they skip down the concrete steps. The couple turns to see who was calling Gale and the woman smiles in our direction. I narrow my eyes, not returning the expression.

"Hey! How are my two favorite cheerleaders?" Gale says, raising his hands to greet Rue and Prim with high-fives.

"That was awesome!" Prim gushes. "You're practically _famous_!"

My mom and I finally catch up and lean against the other side of the railing. "Aww, he's got at least a couple more games before he's famous," I tease, purposely ignoring the presence of the two strangers.

Gale doesn't let my ignorance last long, however. "I'm so glad you guys all made it for my first game. Means a lot. By the way, I'd like you to meet my roommate, Thom…" I was right. He reaches his hand to me and I shake it, as does my mother. "And this is my physics lab partner, Bristol."

Lab partner. Not Thom's girlfriend. Gale's partner.

I extend my hand to her knowing Gale would expect me to be polite, but I can't help but be bothered by her presence. Maybe it's the way she caressed him that is not within the job description of a "lab partner." Or perhaps it's that Gale never mentioned her to us before. Maybe I'm just taken aback by the fact that someone whose role is as inconsequential as a lab partner would be invited to attend his first game (where he would only be playing a minor role) and would actually come to claim her reserved seat – a closer seat, in fact – for the sole purpose of watching him push a few linebackers aside. I don't even want to think about how her deliberately torn University of Southern California t-shirt is quite obviously a couple sizes too small for her _endowment_.

"You're just jealous," Bristol says, tearing me from my hostile thoughts.

"What?" I reply incredulously. I am _not_ jealous. Annoyed, but not jealous.

I'm about to tell her as much when I realize she's looking at Thom and elbowing him humorously in the ribs. Thankfully, they didn't seem to hear me as they are all caught up with teasing Thom for, well, I'm not sure what.

My family packs up to leave Gale to go shower. As we're climbing back up the steps, I take another look back to where Bristol is leaning her blatantly exposed cleavage over the railing right at Gale's eye level. Gale would never be into someone that easy.

No, I'm not jealous.

* * *

_*Excerpt from Chapter 13 of __**Catching Fire**__ by Suzanne Collins._

_**A/N – Yay! This chapter was chock-full of new characters! Finnick and Johanna are back! Plus, Snow, Annie, Plutarch, Thom, Bristol, and the yet-to-be-named "other members" of the Drama Club. It's about to get fun! **_

_**Leave me a review and tell me what you think of this chapter! Thanks for reading!**_


	4. Mystery, Horror, and Romantic Comedy

_**A/N – **__Okay, I'm about to get up on a soapbox for a sec, so feel free to read on or skip ahead. So typically, I'm very gracious about all the reviews – positive, negative, and in between. I welcome corrections, questions, and even dissatisfaction along with the praises and requests. It's all part of the process and I'm totally open to reading and considering them all as long as they aren't blatant flames. But what I will not stand for are ignorant douchebags hiding behind anonymity using the review platform as a place to dispense their racist remarks. So whoever this "detroit gal" (guest) is that thought it would be a great idea to share your bigotry in my reviews to 'Under the Setting Sun' (Gosh, I hope they're not still trolling around my stories), please keep your comments to yourself. And if you're going to bother insulting a culture of people, at least spell correctly. This comment wasn't even directed towards me or the story, so I've deleted it so as not to perpetuate their ignorance._

_*exhale* Okay, I'm better now. I hope that didn't scare anyone off from reviewing. I really am fine with 99.9% of the reviews I get, but this one was racist and uncalled for and, honestly, it wasn't even about the story! Now onto constructive feedback… I try to reply to all the reviews when I can. I really love communicating with readers and writers here. But if it's a guest, I feel bad not being able to respond. Someone left a comment about the mis-quote from the book. It was supposed to be "a hundred lifetimes" and not "a thousand lifetimes". I stand corrected. Actually, I wrote 'a hundred' first, but I looked back at USS where Haymitch says it to Katniss and mistakenly wrote 'a thousand', so I figured, Katniss should recall it the same way. Oh well, I changed it!_

_Let's get on with the story, shall we?_

* * *

_**Chapter 4: Mystery, Horror, and Romantic Comedy**_

I toss my wet bathing suit into a plastic bag and wring the excess water out of my hair before braiding it back up. The girls' locker room is almost cleared out save for a couple girls, Annie, and me. We only have one more class get through before the long weekend, and I have plans for everyone to come over and hang out at my house for a movie night. Delly and Madge have yet to visit our new place and, although Peeta lives just down the street, he still hasn't set foot inside. I considered inviting Annie over too, but I'm not sure if the others know her and she's not much of a talker. It might just turn out to be more uncomfortable for everyone. Except for maybe Peeta. He could carry a conversation with a functional mute.

"Bye, Katniss," Annie says as she grabs her bags and heads out the door. "Have a good weekend."

I wave goodbye to her then reach down to tie my shoelaces. I discovered that, if I wait for the thickest crowd of students to make their way to their classes, I can actually sprint to U.S. History without fighting too much traffic in the hallways and still get there on time. Peeta usually saves a seat for me, so I'm not worried about first-come-first-served.

I linger a minute longer, reorganizing the contents of my backpack so my wet suit doesn't leak out onto my notebooks. When the clock on the wall shows exactly 1:42, I get up off the bench and make my way out the door. I've just exited the locker room when I catch a pair of hushed voices coming from the side of the building behind the large generator. I can't make out what they're saying over the hum of the generator, but I turn my head and flit my eyes for just a second in their direction. I don't see much in the six-inch gap between the wood siding of the school building and the metal box, but I do see a familiar head of long, brown hair being pressed up against the wall.

_Annie? _

She doesn't strike me as the delinquent type to either be attempting to ditch class or making out with someone in secret. I know I'm pushing the time before the start of sixth period, but concern for her safety has me paralyzed in my spot. It is not my intention to spy on her or anything. I simply want to make sure that she's all right and hiding behind the generator on her own volition.

I notice a hand – a man's hand – snaking over her hip and grabbing her waist. I can only guess she's kissing somebody, but his face is hidden from my view. I'm certain I ought to let them be and leave to take care of my own business. My mind begins to churn with speculation over who this guy could be. She's never mentioned a boyfriend. Well, in fairness, we don't exactly discuss that type of thing, but I feel like a boyfriend might be one of those obvious things. This is high school after all – Land of the PDAs.

I'm about to just turn and leave when I hear her giggle and utter "Finnick" in a high-pitched voice.

My fingers involuntarily clench as I realize that she is making out with none other that Finnick Odair – philandering, womanizing, and somewhat obnoxious playboy. The same Finnick that, just a few days ago, was offering to undress me with his eyes. Heat rises to my cheeks as I think about him seducing sweet, unsuspecting Annie just to add another tally to his conquests.

I tell myself that it's none of my business; that Annie is big enough to take care of herself. Finnick's reputation is no secret on campus, so I highly doubt Annie is actually oblivious to whom she is involving herself with. _But why Finnick?_ Granted, I don't know Annie that well and people are always saying, "It's the quiet ones you have to watch out for." But Annie just doesn't strike me as the type who would fall for his wiles, charming as they might seem.

I finally decide to leave them be and mind my own business, so I break into an all out sprint to try to get to my class in time. I'm a pretty fast runner, but I'm still about four doors away when the bell rings, announcing that I am officially late to class.

* * *

"Are you going to stay and hang out tonight?" I ask as I hand Gale the box of dryer sheets from the cabinet.

He fishes the finished load out of the washing machine, tugging on a stubborn pair of wet jeans, and transfers them to the dryer.

"Nah. I wish I could. Hanging out with giggly high school girls sounds splendid," he says mockingly. "But I have a midterm I need to study for."

I roll my eyes at his good-humored insult of my friends. "So you're just using me for free food and laundry services?"

"Yup!"

The phone in the kitchen rings and I hear Prim pick it up and answer it. A minute later, she comes into the laundry room and extends the cordless phone out to Gale.

"Gale, it's your mom," she informs him and he quickly takes the phone from her, eager to speak to Hazelle.

"Hey, Mom!" he greets with genuine giddiness. "I'm great. You'd be proud of me. I'm doing my own laundry!"

Prim and I laugh. Even though Gale's been the man of the house for many years, long before his father passed away, he'll always be a "Momma's boy". The doorbell sounds and Prim and I leave Gale to chat with his mother.

I opened the door to find Peeta wearing a blue hoodie over his head and hunching over a tray of assorted mini pastries, protecting it from the light drizzle that has started to fall.

"Whoa. When did it start to rain?" I ask as I take the tray from his hands and step aside to let him in.

"I probably should have wrapped the tray in plastic or something," he says, pushing back his hood and unzipping his jacket. "Didn't realize it was drizzling already."

I inspect the tray of goods for any water damage and laugh. "You know, most guys would come to a casual movie night with a package of Oreos or Twinkies. Only Peeta Mellark would come bearing homemade baklava." I pick one up and sink my teeth into its flaky layers. "Mmm… but who's complaining?"

I'm just about to close the front door when I see Madge's red Volkswagen pull into the driveway, so I leave the door ajar and go to put the dessert tray in the kitchen.

"Hey, Prim!" Peeta greets my sister when she emerges from the walk in closet with a coat on. "Where are you headed to? You're not hanging out with us tonight?"

"No, Leevy, the girl at the end of the street, is having a birthday slumber party," Prim replies, grabbing a small, pink gift bag from the coffee table before heading to the front door.

"Bring an umbrella!"

She nods and snatches the umbrella that is parked next to the door. Madge and Delly arrive just as Prim is exiting. They exchange brief pleasantries with my sister then come into the house toting bags of chips and sodas.

"My hair _hates_ this weather," Delly announces sullenly, pulling off her hat to expose her frizzed out waves. "I mean, if it's going to rain, I wish it would at least _pour_ so I can sport that sexy, Sports Illustrated look, but this lame excuse for precipitation just makes me look like a feral cat!"

I assign Peeta to start a fire in the fireplace while us girls organize all the food in the kitchen. Delly is perched up on a barstool at the breakfast bar, tossing cheese puffs into her mouth when the door to the laundry room opens and Gale emerges balancing the phone on his shoulder while he maneuvers the large hamper of clothes through the narrow doorway.

He nods his head and smiles politely at my guests, carrying on his phone conversation. "Hi, rosy Posy! How's my baby girl?... I know you're 5 years old, but you'll never stop being my baby even when you're 50!..." A high-pitched, but indistinct chatter emanates from the phone's speaker. "You already have a loose tooth? See, I told you not to eat so much candy!"

I smile at Gale's repartee with Posy. "He's talking to his little sister back home," I tell the girls who I've just caught gawking embarrassingly at my best friend.

"Aww," Madge swoons.

"Is _that_ Gale?" Delly hisses. "Are you sure you two aren't... y'know? 'Cause I am seriously questioning your judgment!"

Gale has, thankfully, retreated into the den to finish his call and laundry in privacy. "He's just my best friend, Delly."

"Dude, Katniss, I don't know how you lasted years of friendship with Gale without jumping his bones!"

"Wow, Delly, really?" Peeta says playfully as he returns from the living room. "I'm right here."

She waves her hand to dismiss him. "Oh, quit whining, she's already jumped _your_ bones."

Delly and Madge burst into fits of laughter while Peeta and I stare at each other in horror, our faces flushing visible shades of red.

"Did you get the fire started already?" I ask him, trying to change the subject. "That was quick."

"You do know that homes here have fireplaces that are turned on and off with a switch or a key, right?" he informs me.

"Oh," I reply. "Good to know." The two girls are still giggling and trying to sneak glimpses of Gale through the doorway of the den. "Pizza should be here any minute now."

Right on cue, there is a knock on the door.

"I'll get it." Peeta pulls his wallet out from his back pocket and heads to the front door.

I attempt to grab the paper goods and Peeta's dessert tray and tell Madge and Delly to grab the bowls of snacks to bring to the living room. We spread all the junk food for tonight's festivities out on the large wooden surface and pass around plates and napkins.

Gale comes out of the den, his clothes packed tightly in a drawstring sack, and hands me back the phone.

"Alright, I'm heading back to the dorm now," he announces.

"Oh! Gale, before you go, let me introduce you to my friends – this is Delly, and Madge, and you remember Peeta." Gale shifts his laundry bag to his left hand and extends his right to shake each of their hands. The girls try hard to stifle their grins while Peeta attempts to force one.

After Gale leaves, I shut the door behind him and lock the deadbolt.

"Bummer. Now that Gale's gone, the night just got a whole lot less fun," Delly laments jokingly. "If he was staying, I was going to suggest we turn this thing into a sleepover!"

Madge nudges her and I notice Peeta overstuffing his mouth with pizza, clearly bothered by the drool-fest taking place in Gale's honor.

"Hey, you guys gotta try Peeta's baklava. They're so good!" I rave, trying to move the conversation away from my best friend. "If you don't get one soon, I might eat them all."

He smiles genuinely at my compliment. We eventually move onto other topics – how the Drama Club is going, what private school is like for Madge, Gloss and Cashmere's hook up after the homecoming game. As Delly relates the details of their rendezvous behind the school's generator, I'm reminded of Annie and Finnick.

"Hey, do you guys know a girl at school named Annie Cresta?" I ask Delly and Peeta.

"The name sounds familiar," Delly says. "I think she might be in one of my classes, but I don't really know her."

"I know Annie Cresta!" Madge pipes in. We all turn to her, surprised that she seems to recognize a girl at our school better than we do. "She used to go to St. Catherine's too, but I think she begged her parents to let her go to public school. Her dad's a city councilman or something, but her mom used to volunteer at our school when we were younger. They're pretty strict and _über-_conservative, so I'm surprised they actually let her go to public school."

"Why did you want to know about her?" Peeta asks.

I debate for a brief moment whether I should share what I saw transpire the other day, but I decide not to ignite that wildfire of rumors.

"We just work together in a couple classes. I thought about inviting her tonight, but I didn't know if you guys knew her." I get up from my seat on the floor and gather everyone's empty paper plates to throw away. "So, before the food comas kick in, what are we watching?"

"I brought the good ol' standard, _Clueless_!" Delly offers, waving her hot pink DVD case in the air.

Madge digs through her large purse until she unearths _A Walk to Remember _and _Twilight._

"Okay, did you chicks all forget that a _guy_ was going to be here too?" Peeta complains.

"This from the guy who keeps his own copy of _Dirty Dancing_?" I tease.

"I'll have you know that Patrick Swayze is _very_ masculine!" he tries to defend himself.

"In _Red Dawn_ maybe, but _Dirty Dancing, _sorry to say, is a total chick flick!" Delly laughs. "So then, what did you bring to watch?"

"_The Ring,_" he says proudly.

"No scary movies!" I protest. "I'm going to be home alone tonight. I don't want to be having nightmares."

"Why don't we vote?" Madge suggests. "To be fair."

"That doesn't sound fair at all. I'm already outnumbered three to one," Peeta points out.

I quickly duck into the kitchen to finish disposing the trash I had been holding, then grab a glass mixing bowl, a pad of Post-it notes, and a black pen.

"Fine, we'll do this the fair way," I say, scribbling each of our names on a yellow square, folding them up, and tossing them into the bowl. "I'll just draw one at random. Whoever's name I grab gets to pick the movie."

Peeta crosses his arms. "Whatever. The odds are still in your favor."

I close my eyes and reach into the bowl until my fingers have secured a single paper. I unfold it and read the name, "Peeta Mellark! There, are you happy now?"

* * *

The quiet in the house creeps me out. Now that my friends have all gone home and I've put away all the leftover food, I am left to the silence of the empty house. The rain has since picked up and thunder can be heard rumbling in the distance. I am already showered and changed and heading to bed when a scratching sound coming from my mom's room causes my palms to sweat and my heart to race. I want to just close the door and ignore the sound until I can fall asleep, but I know that sleep will not come until I've found the source of the noise.

After turning on the lights in my bedroom, the bathroom, and the hallway, I slowly push her bedroom door open and blindly feel for the light switch, flipping it up before making any attempt at setting foot in the room. Her bed is neatly made, the way she had left it when she left for work this afternoon. Her blinds have been left open and I can see behind it is the branch of the tall walnut tree in the backyard, swaying against the window. I'm relieved to have found the source of the scratching sound, but I'm sure that every noise will be magnified throughout the night.

I leave the lights on and pad back to my room. I climb under the covers and pull them over my head to filter out whatever sounds I can. I'm not sure how much time has passed that I've tossed and turned, sleep continuing to evade me. The thunder is louder now and more frequent. My curtains are drawn, but they do little to block the periodic flashes of light in the sky. I try to shut my eyes, but the image of a glowing ring keeps appearing behind my eyelids.

I check the time on my bedside clock. 2:37 stares back at me in a bright blue glow.

_I'm going to kill Peeta for making us watch that movie._

It seems unfair that he's gone home to sleep with the security of having his uncle and dog to keep him company while I'm left to wrestle with my wild imagination. I decide that he needs to hear a piece of my mind and waking him up at such an ungodly hour is a fitting penance for the distress he has inflicted on me.

I grab the phone that is cradled next to my clock and dial his cell phone number. I don't want to wake Haymitch because that would just result in more punishment for me (although I'm fairly it would take an ice cold bucket of water to wake that man). It rings several times and I'm about ready to hang up when his gravelly voice answers the other end of the line.

"Katniss?" he says still in a sleep-heavy stupor. "Is everything okay? It's almost three in the morning."

"I hate you," I preface facetiously. "Thanks to your stupid movie, I can't sleep. Every noise freaks me out!"

I hear the rustling of his sheets. "You woke me up just to tell me that?"

"Well, it's only fair. If I can't sleep, then you can't either." It's actually helping to have someone on the phone with me. I can feel the paranoia melting away as I talk to him.

"So what do you want me to do?" he mumbles against his mouthpiece. "Check under your bed for crazy little girls?"

"That is _not_ funny, Peeta!" I shout at him, unable to stop myself from leaning over and sneaking a peek over the side of my bed. "Next movie night, we're going to watch a chick flick marathon until you go home neutered!"

"Ouch," he replies sounding more awake.

"Can you please just talk to me?" I beg.

"About what?"

I shake my head. "It doesn't matter. Tell me a story. Just stay on the phone until I get sleepy?"

"Alright." Peeta pauses a moment to think of something to say. "Have I ever told you about the time I broke my leg?"

"No. What happened?"

"I was, maybe, 12 or 13. My family was on a camping trip. My brothers and I went off to explore on our own 'cause our mom was in one of her moods – aggravated by the mosquitoes that were following her around – so we just went off so she could be left alone." I slip back down under the covers and finally let my head relax against my pillow as I listen to Peeta's story. "Anyway, we had wandered pretty far up this stream, chasing a bunch of frogs when we ran into a pack of wolves staring us down through the trees."

"No, you didn't," I say incredulously. "What did you do?"

"Well, the only thing we could think to do – _run_! We ran so hard, my lungs felt like they were about to explode. We didn't even know what direction we were going, we were just trying to outrun the pack. Eventually, we got to this ranger tower. Of course, with our luck, there was no ranger there at the time, but we quickly tried to climb out of the wolves' reach. We were stuck up in that tower for quite a while until the pack eventually got tired of us and left. Cyd and Evan jumped down pretty easily, but when I hit the ground, I heard a crack and I couldn't stand up. Luckily, the ranger came back to his tower and put a makeshift splint out of a rolled up magazine and some Ace bandages. He loaded me on the back of his truck and drove around back to the campsite to find my parents. Needless to say, we packed up and went home early so they could take me to a hospital to get my leg checked, but man, my mom chewed us out the _entire_ two hour drive back!"

"So was it a full break? Did you have to wear a cast?" I ask.

I hear a sudden knocking sound coming from downstairs and I grip the phone tightly to my ear.

"Katniss?" Peeta's voice comes through the phone.

"Shhh! I hear something downstairs."

"Katniss, it's me," he says. "Open your front door."

I sprint out of my room and down the stairs, then throw open the front door. Peeta is standing on my porch, in dripping wet pajamas, still clutching his cell phone to his ear.

"Peeta, what are you doing here?" I hang up the phone and pull him inside.

"I feel kinda guilty that I made you watch the horror movie, so I figured I at least owed it to you to keep you company," he answers, shaking the rain out of his hair like a dog.

He sits on the couch while I run to get him a dry towel and the Pistons sweatshirt he lent to me last summer.

"Here. It's a good thing I kept that."

He smiles sadly at his old sweater before peeling off his wet t-shirt and slipping into the sweater.

I make us mugs of warm milk with just a touch of honey for flavor. We sit facing each other on the couch, our backs against opposite arms of the sofa, our feet propped up in the middle. He tells me more stories about his childhood – some happy and carefree, some laced with memories of his abusive mother. My head droops onto the seat back cushion as I finally start to drift into sleep.

I feel like I've only been asleep for a second when I feel someone nudging me and hissing my name.

"Katniss! Wake up!" One eye slowly cracks open, but is forced shut again by the harsh daylight that already floods the room. "Katniss!"

Peeta and I both wake up as I push my head off his chest and turn towards the source of the voice. All I see is a blurry silhouette of a young girl standing over me with long hair hanging limply around her face. I scream a split second before Peeta does. He squeezes the arm he has wrapped around my shoulder tighter while I unhook my leg from his and kick the girl away from us.

"Ow!" Prim yelps. "What are you doing?"

We take a moment to take in the scene. Peeta and I are cuddling with each other on the couch and Prim is on the floor nursing her bruising hip. We sit up with a start, unsure of how we ended up in this compromising position, and mortified that Prim caught us this way.

Peeta frantically untangles himself from me and makes a beeline towards the door. "Oh my gosh, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't… I'm sorry!" he repeats, darting his eyes between Prim and me.

After the door closes behind Peeta, I turn my attention back to my sister. "It's not what you think." She smirks at me and raises her eyebrows in that knowing, judgmental way. "No, Prim. Don't even ask."

* * *

_**BTW, I just started a Tumblr. Still trying to figure out how to use it, but come follow me! (Prone-to-Obsess)**_

_**Tell me what you think! I promise I won't bite… again!**_


	5. A Friend of Dorothy

_**Author's Note: **__Real quick – anyone here that found this from Tumblr and __hasn't__ read the prequel to this yet? If so, please go check out my other story __**Under the Setting Sun**__ first! _

_Anyway, so glad you all seemed to enjoy the last chapter! I loved writing it! It was definitely one of my favorites. This chapter… ugh. I'm sick of looking at it. Bleh. It doesn't help to be reading some really good, well-written fics out there and feel so inadequate. _

_I'm currently working on an outtake for Chapter 4 in Peeta's POV. So, BOLO. _

* * *

_**Chapter 5: A Friend of Dorothy**_

The days following our movie night are only mildly awkward. Surprisingly, Peeta was the one having trouble dealing with it. He's apologized profusely almost every time we've made eye contact that I've decided it's best not to look at him just to save him the trouble. The most uncomfortable part of the incident is in wondering how Peeta might interpret our actions and intentions, but his apparent remorse tips me off that he neither intended to take advantage of me nor does he believe _I _acted on any particular feelings for him. It was merely an unconscious force of habit that I shifted towards him in my sleep. _That's all._

It's not until the following Wednesday that Peeta is finally able to muster the courage to sit next to me again in Drama, his earlier avoidance enabled by the club's swelling numbers. After a couple weeks of promoting and recruiting between takes of roleplaying as inanimate objects and farm animals, the club has grown to twenty-four students. Most of them are genuinely interested in the art of acting and public speaking, but there are a few others like me who are here for the elective credits alone. Then there is Mitchell who only joined because his girlfriend, Jackson, coerced him into it and Bonnie, who joined to keep an eye on her boyfriend, Homes, to make sure he wasn't joining just to kiss other girls on stage.

A stack of papers gets passed down the row of Drama Club members. As Finnick hands me the pile of papers, I keep one for myself before handing the rest to Peeta. It appears to be a long-overdue survey that Mr. Heavensbee wants us all to fill out now that our roster is filled up.

_Name. Grade level. Previous acting/performing experience. Expectations for the Drama Club._

I pull my math book out of my backpack to use as a hard surface underneath the paper and click the pen I've been twirling anxiously between my fingers. I quickly scribble the answers to the questions I'm familiar with – _Katniss Everdeen. Grade 11. _The next two questions draw a blank. Looking to my left, I find Finnick recording an extensive list of past experiences including, but not limited to, working as an extra for a two soap operas and independent movies, a commercial for Best Buy, a laundry list of modeling jobs; although, I don't consider that last category acting or performing, but Finnick seems to be proud of his resume.

Finnick catches my staring and waggles his eyebrows at me. "You impressed?"

"What, no starring role in 'Free Your Willy?'" I say provokingly, but Finnick simply laughs in response.

He brings his lips to my ear and says in a low voice, "Nah, I've only done a bit part in 'I Know _Who_ You Did Last Summer.'"

I push him away with my elbow. "Eww, Finnick!"

A blush spreads over my entire face, burning even the backs of my eyeballs. The worse part is that I'm not even certain if he's joking about doing porn or not.

Further down the row, Cressida, Fulvia, and Messalla – the three pretentious actors from the local youth theater – have their heads ducked and their eyes glued to their surveys in concentration. I'm sure they practically have a whole IMDB page under their names.

Peeta is tapping his pen incessantly on the other side of me and I turn to check out what he might have written on his "previous experience."

"The Cowardly Lion?" I raise my eyebrows incredulously. "You actually included what you did when you were six?" I lean over and scrutinize his writing. "A _Mellark Bakery commercial_? Are you serious?"

Peeta wears a proud look on his face. "What? You've never seen it? It aired locally for a couple years."

"Sorry, must've pawned off our TV before your big debut," I reply with a shrug.

Peeta peeks down at my nearly blank sheet. "How come you didn't include the Wizard of Oz play? That's previous acting and performing experience. It might be worth a couple more brownie points since you were the lead and you sang too."

I roll my eyes at Peeta and fail to notice Mr. Heavensbee within earshot of us.

"Did I hear correctly? Katniss, did you once play Dorothy in a school play?" he probes excitedly.

"I-it w-wasn't anything significant, Mr. Heavensbee," I tell him while inconspicuously kicking Peeta's foot. "It was ten years ago. Hardly something to call 'experience.'"

"Well, I beg to differ! If you could carry the lead role for an entire play at such a young age, you must have quite the natural talent!" he declares.

"And did you hear? She _sings _too," Finnick gushes sarcastically, clearly trying to mortify me.

I sink deeper into my seat, trying to hide from the unwanted attention I was getting. When Mr. Heavensbee moves on, I take the chewed up end of the pen out of my clenched teeth in exasperation and quickly scribble under the "previous experience"–

_None. _

Just the perfect touch of rebellion, I think.

* * *

I place my hand under the spray of water to check the temperature before stepping into the shower. When it feels warm enough, I peel off my clothes and step under the soothing jets. I love lazy Sundays. I get to sleep in a couple extra hours, my homework is finished, and best of all, Gale comes over for dinner. The lasagna is keeping warm in the oven and we're just awaiting Gale's arrival so we can sit down to our weekly tradition.

I squeeze the botanical shampoo onto my palm and massage it through my thick hair. It's gotten longer than I usually keep it, so it takes some time to work all the lather through it. The bubbles run down my hair and trail down my body when I think I hear screaming coming from downstairs. I left Prim alone so I could get cleaned up, and now my heart is racing in fear.

"Prim?" I call out from the shower stall. I slide the door open a few inches and yell louder, "Prim!"

I can't hear any answer, so I reach for the knobs to shut the water off when the stream gets cut off before I can. My soapy hand is still hovering over the dial still in the 'on' position and I can't figure out what has caused the water to stop its flow.

My mind is racing with curiosity and a little bit of paranoia. I grab a towel and wrap my foam-covered hair, then take Prim's towel to swathe my body. Two voices can be heard from downstairs – one I recognize as Prim's, the other a low hum of a man's voice. I crack open the bathroom door, letting in a shocking gust of cold air into the steam-filled room. After closer inspection, I recognize the other voice as Gale's, so I let myself out and tiptoe down the stairs, being careful not to slip on the hardwood with my wet feet.

"Prim? Gale?" I call out to them before finding them crouched down in the kitchen. "The shower shut off. Do you –"

Gale and my sister are peeking under the kitchen sink with a flashlight. Their feet surrounded by a puddle of water. Gale's shirt has the telltale shadow of dampness down the front and Prim's face is glistening from moisture.

I clutch the towel more tightly around my chest. "What happened here?"

They both glanced toward me, Gale's gaze lingering a few seconds too long before he finally answers, "I don't know. I just got here and Prim was yelling about water spraying in the kitchen. I think this pipe might be broken. I ran out to shut off the water main. Didn't realize you were in the shower. Sorry."

"Well, can you fix it?" I ask, growing concerned about my unfinished shower.

Gale stands and steps out of the way to let Prim sop up the pool of water collected on the tile. "I could if I had the right tools."

Prim looks up from her task. "Oh, I already called Peeta to borrow some," she informs me. "He should be on his way to bring it."

"What?" I reply, mortification noted in my voice, as I grab the towel on my head in a panic. I spin on my heel to run upstairs and put some clothes on, but I run right into Peeta's chest. "Uf!"

"Oh! I'm sorry," Peeta says, his eyes falling in embarrassment. When he realizes he has a front row seat to my exposed cleavage, he darts his eyes away quickly. "Umm, Prim called for some tools?" Peeta nods tersely to greet Gale. "Hey."

"Hey."

I'm suddenly feeling extremely exposed and it has nothing to do with my state of undress.

Peeta kneels down in front of the open base cabinet and sets his bag of tools on the floor. "So what's the issue?"

"I think the pipe broke or something," Prim relays to him. "I'm not really sure."

Gale steps forward. "You don't have to worry about it. I'm sure I can fix it. I just need to borrow some of your tools, if that's alright."

"No, no, it's okay," Peeta insists, his head disappearing under the sink. "I used to do maintenance back at the country club."

Prim raises her eyebrows at me as the boys continue to swap reasons why one of them is better suited for the task than the other. I know Gale is too proud to let someone else do it, but I can't tell if Peeta is truly trying to be accommodating or if this is the beginning of a pissing contest.

"Wait, I thought you were like a waiter or a baker at the club or something," Gale probes.

"Yeah, I did that too," his muffled voice answers from inside the cabinet.

Gale squats down beside Peeta and points his flashlight at the problematic pipe. "I'm pretty sure it just needs a new coupler."

Peeta counters, "No, I think it might actually be the pressure regulator."

"I was here when the water was coming out," Gale answers impatiently. "I saw where the leak was."

I catch Peeta pause to glance at Gale then at me. "Uh, yeah… you know what? I can't figure this out anyway. Why don't you come take a closer look, Gale?"

He gets up from the floor and brushes his hands on the back of his jeans and makes room for Gale to slip under the sink to examine the leak more closely. I know he can fix it himself – at the very least, he can diagnose the problem – but Peeta is choosing to step aside to assuage Gale's ego.

While Gale tinkers below the counter, Peeta pulls up next to me. "Nice outfit."

I look down at myself, having forgotten that I was still only dressed in a towel. "Oh, um, I was in the middle of a shower when Gale shut the water off," I say, blushing.

"I think it'll be a while before the pipe is repaired. You can go to my house to finish, if you need to." He notices my skeptical expression. "Don't worry, Haymitch is out. I can stay here and help Gale."

"Uhh…sure?" I answer shyly.

Peeta unhooks a key from his keychain and hands it to me. "Here. My room's upstairs, last door on the right."

"Hey, that's the same room as mine," I say with a smile as I take his house key from him. "Are you sure you guys will be okay here?"

Peeta looks toward Gale then back at me. "Well, it'll be tough fixing the pipe without all your expert help, but we'll get by," he says facetiously.

I lower my voice so Gale doesn't hear. "I wasn't talking about the repair."

Peeta feigns innocence and I scowl in return. He silently crosses his finger over his chest and holds up three fingers to indicate his promise to be nice to Gale.

After grabbing a change of clothes and covering myself with a long coat, I leave my house and head down towards Peeta's. It's a really strange sensation to walk into somebody else's empty house. I feel like an intruder, but I don't want to waste any time contemplating this just in case Haymitch returns early to find someone who is not his nephew using his facilities.

I follow the identical path to Peeta's room – furnished exactly how it was at the club – and quickly duck into the connected bathroom. In my hurry, I forgot to bring my own soap, so I peruse the shelf in his shower for an alternative. He has a blue bottle of body wash that, I'm sure, smells overtly masculine, but I'm naked and soaking and in someone else's house, so I don't reject it.

I flick the top open with the tip of my thumb and take a quick whiff of the fragrance. They say the sense of smell is the most evocative sense and I'm immediately transported back to the night after the Victory Dance when I spent the night in Peeta's room. This was the scent that lulled me to sleep and coaxed me into awake. This was the scent that, despite my gnawing fears, enveloped me in a feeling of security. This scent made me feel… _alive_.

_It's just the mint,_ I tell myself, forcing away the smile that begins to play on my lips.

I barely cover myself with the soap, rinsing it off as quickly as possible, and let the warm water beat down on me, hoping to purge myself of the emerging memories. Once I'm finished, I pat myself dry with my towel. As I'm reaching for my sweatpants and t-shirt, I hear the hum of an engine out on the driveway. I assume Haymitch must be home, and I throw on my clothes, cursing to myself in anticipation of what will inevitably be a very awkward meeting.

I listen intently for any indicative sounds that might reveal Haymitch's location in the house, but there is only silence. I sneak down the steps, hoping to slip out the front door without getting caught, but Haymitch is nowhere to be found. Outside, the driveway is vacant where Peeta's jeep was once parked.

Upon returning to my own house, showered and fully clothed, I find Prim perched on the kitchen island, picking at the pan of lasagna that was supposed to be our dinner, while Gale leans over the sink, inspecting a big piece of metal.

"What's going on? Where's Peeta?" I ask them.

"He went to the hardware store to get a replacement part," says Prim before plunging a forkful of food into her mouth. That explains the car engine I heard and his missing jeep. She looks at the clock on oven. "Ooh! Spongebob is on!"

Prim hops off the counter and heads off to the living room.

"So what was the cause of the problem?" I ask, turning to Gale.

Gale holds up the foreign object in his hand. "I found a crack in the pressure regulator."

I'm about to say that that's what Peeta suggested, but Gale's choice of words suggest his desire to take credit for the discovery.

"Can you fix it?"

He looks at me like he's insulted I even asked. "Of course I can fix it. Once Peeta comes back with the new part, it'll be simple as pie," he answers self-assuredly.

"You were nice to him, weren't you?" I ask, grabbing some plates from the cupboard and cutting a couple slices out of the lasagna.

He cocks his head. "What's that supposed to mean? Of course I was nice to him. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I just know how you can be sometimes," I say, rolling my eyes. "You always want to be the guy to take care of everything."

"I'm just trying to help you out," he says. "It's not _my_ fault he didn't know how to fix it."

I let out a laugh. "Sure, Gale. Whatever you say."

I'm expecting his usual retort, but he's gone silent. Gale's eyebrows crease and I can tell he's thinking about something he's not sure he should say. I immediately regret being so candid with him regarding Peeta. He must be wondering why I'm so eager to defend him.

I slide a plate of food over to Gale. "Here. Eat. I know how you get grumpy when you're hungry."

For several minutes, we eat in silence, except for the clinking of the forks against the ceramic plates and the distant sound of Prim's television show.

"Katniss," Gale finally breaks the ice. "I-I understand why you're so protective of him."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, I don't know. I kind of got this vibe in the beginning that maybe you were keeping something from me." My heart starts pounding so hard, I can feel the blood pumping against my eardrums, but I stay quiet and let him go on. "I mean, you never wanted to talk about Peeta, but I think I know what the secret is."

He knows. Gale knows about Peeta's and my relationship. He's suspected it all along. Why didn't he say anything sooner? He knew I was still hanging out with Peeta at school. Was he just waiting for me to be honest with him?

"Gale, I –

"No, you don't have to explain," he interjects, periodically looking over his shoulder to check if Peeta has yet returned. "I get it. And it's cool. I don't judge."

That was certainly unexpected. There are about a million reasons for Gale to be upset, starting with the fact that Gale has a bit of a short circuit, but he's being uncharacteristically calm and acquiescent.

"Really?" I ask, proceeding with caution. "I'm surprised you're being so laid back about it."

"C'mon, Katniss. What do you think of me? I'm not narrow-minded." Narrow-minded? Am I missing something? What is he talking about? And where is the guy that dropped me off at the airport five months ago? "I mean, I get why he would come out to a place like California where it's a lot more liberal and accepting…"

"What exactly do you think of Peeta?"

Gale isn't making anymore sense and I don't want to put my foot in my mouth and say something revealing.

"That he's _you know…"_

He lets his insinuation fade off and we sit there staring at one another expectantly. I'm trying to make sense of what Gale is telling me when it suddenly hits me.

"Wait, you think Peeta's _gay_?!"

Gale backs down a little from my outburst, shrugging defensively. "Well, he hangs out with a bunch of girls, he's artistic, he bakes, and…"

"Wow, you're more narrow-minded than you think," I tell Gale, annoyed. "Peeta is, most definitely, _not_ gay."

"You sound pretty sure of that." He has an eyebrow cocked and his arms are crossed in suspicion.

I know I should have just shut my mouth a while ago, but I can't seem to stop myself from arguing in Peeta's defense. "And in case you're wondering if he knows how to do anything 'manly,'" I put up my fingers to make air quotes, "Peeta knew how to fix that leaky pipe. _He's _the one that suggested it was that pressure thingy there." I point to the metal object sitting on the counter next to Gale. "You were just making such a stink about wanting to be the 'Man of the House', he just let you."

Gale scoffs. "Why? Does he think I'd actually be jealous of him?"

"You might, if you didn't think he was gay."

Gale and I both jump at the sound of the front door closing. We eye each other nervously awaiting the subject of our conversation to make his way into the kitchen, and hoping he hadn't heard anything we had said.

"Got it," Peeta says as he enters the room waving a box in the air. He stops short, taking note of our rigid postures and guilty glances. "Oo-kaay…"

"I should go," Gale announces, grabbing his keys and wallet off the counter and shoving them into his pants pockets. "I have an early morning team workout."

Peeta and I exchange perplexed expressions. "Wait, aren't you going to finish fixing the pipe?" Peeta asks.

"Umm… you think you can do it?" Gale counters. I know what he's doing. I know he's trying to give Peeta the chance to take over. I just can't figure out exactly _why_ he's doing it. "If I don't go back to the dorm and hit the sack soon, I'm going to get my ass handed to me tomorrow morning."

"Sure," Peeta replies guardedly.

Gale leans down to give me a hug goodbye, planting a quick kiss on the top of my head - something he does all the time to Posy or Prim, but never to me. I catch Peeta's glance flit away and preoccupy itself with the replacement part in his possession. I walk Gale to the door. When I return to the kitchen, Peeta already has tools in hand and is trying to work in the new part to where the damaged one was removed.

"Thank you, Peeta," I say quietly as I lean down and rest my chin on the open cabinet door beside him. "I'm sorry Gale bailed like that."

"Yeah, I'm pretty disappointed about that," he says, tightening the connection with a large wrench. "Gale is _so hot_."

At first, I'm confused, but when Peeta chuckles to himself, I realize he's teasing me for what Gale and I were discussing when he arrived.

"Ugh. You overheard that?"

"Just…a little… bit," his strained voice says between grunts as he struggles to secure the regulator, the defined muscles in his arms and shoulders pulsating. "So Gale thinks I play for the other team, huh?"

I blush. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

He finishes the installation and begins packing his tools back into the bag. "So I guess you never told him… about us?"

My eyes dart away and I shake my head slightly. Peeta doesn't comment, but his disappointed expression says it all.

"Don't. Just don't." I stand up to walk away from him.

Peeta sits up and pushes himself off the floor. "What? I didn't say anything." He mumbles something under his breath that, if I heard correctly, was something along the lines of "_I'm learning not to_."

"Yeah, well, I know what you're thinking. It's all over your face," I say, turning back to him with a pout. "But I don't owe Gale any explanations."

His eyebrows shoot up and his mouth opens before he decides against sharing his initial reaction to what I've just admitted. He purses his lips for a moment before saying, "No. I guess you don't." He thinks his carefully chosen words are innocuous, but I hear the double meaning in his tone.

"I'll tell him when the time is right, okay?" I'm getting defensive and I can't stand it. I hate playing this game with Peeta and I hate picking fights with him.

"Okay," he says simply. "Well, the pressure regulator's installed now, so I should get going."

"Thank you." Peeta nods in return and I follow him towards the front door to let him out. "Goodbye, Peeta."

He turns back to look at me before heading down the front steps. "Goodbye, Katniss."

* * *

**_Review and tell me what you thought. Please! I personally didn't care for this chapter, but feedback would really help me sort some things out and make it better. Thanks!_**

_P.S. If you, like me, enjoy Author's Notes, you can come follow my musings (and all the things that distract me from writing) on my Tumblr:_ _**prone-to-obsess**_


	6. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

_**A/N – **__Boo. Everyone's been getting sick here at home. Sorry. Life happens. _

_I did, however, put up an outtake for this story from Peeta's POV, so if you haven't seen it yet, go ahead and check it out. __**The Morning After: Outtakes**_

_P.S. Dialogue is my crutch._

* * *

_**Chapter 6: Guess Who's Coming to Dinner**_

"No, no, no, no!" Gale screams from the living room, the football game blaring on the television screen. "Are you kidding me? These refs are ridiculous!"

I carry in a bowl of freshly popped popcorn and place it on the coffee table in front of him, tossing one in the air and catching it in my mouth.

"Who's up?" I ask even though his answer won't really make a difference to me as a casual sports spectator.

"Still tied at 14 a piece," he answers with a grunt. "But Dallas just fumbled the ball even though Murray clearly had a knee down before the ball popped out!"

"Umm," I reply for lack of any intelligible response. "Okay. Whatever that means." Gale shakes his head and laughs at my sports ineptitude. "Hey, can you come help me set the table?"

He rises from his spot on the couch and follows me to the dining room, treading backwards to keep his eyes on the game. I'd already laid out the washed and pressed white cloth, and Prim's school craft of a pinecone turkey adorns the center of the table. I hand Gale a stack of dinner plates and begin folding the green cloth napkins. My mother comes in to give us the silverware to set out.

"Oh, put out two more place settings," she says, pointing to the four plates that Gale has laid out.

"I thought Grandma and Grandpa went on a cruise for Thanksgiving," I say as we stare back at her expectantly.

"They are," she answers. "But Prim invited Haymitch and Peeta."

"Here?" I ask incredulously. "For Thanksgiving dinner?"

My mother waves us off. "Oh, don't you two look at me like that. It's the holidays. I've made plenty of food. There's no reason those two ought to spend Thanksgiving just the two of them." She starts heading back into the kitchen, mumbling, "Besides, I'm pretty sure Haymitch is on a liquid diet."

Gale just shrugs and lays down a plate in front of each of the two remaining chairs at the table before turning his attention back to the football game. I fold two more napkins and begin flanking the plates with the silverware my mother left. I put out a few votive candles from the fireplace mantle onto the table, and give the spread one last inspection before leaving it.

I'm not too sure how I feel about having Haymitch and Peeta joining us for our family dinner. Now that Gale knows that Peeta is very much into females, I'm paranoid he'll start to shift his suspicions. And once Haymitch gets enough alcohol in him – and let's face it, he _will_ - anything can come out of his mouth. I am hoping and praying he'll at least have the discernment to keep quiet about Peeta and me.

While Gale is once again preoccupied with yelling at the screen over some pass interference penalty, I sneak into the kitchen to find Prim.

"What in the world were you thinking inviting Haymitch and Peeta here?" I hiss at her as she sprinkles mini marshmallows over a pan of sweet potatoes.

She looks at me with wide, innocent eyes. "What? I saw Haymitch outsides while I was riding my bike home from school yesterday, so I invited him. It seems so sad for them to spend it alone."

I really can't be upset with her. She's a rare, pure-hearted soul that is always looking out for other people. And for Haymitch to actually accept her invitation shows the effect Prim's sweetness can have on even the most cantankerous of people. I was just looking forward to a laid back Thanksgiving dinner with my family and best friend without worrying about my whole world imploding on me. Now I have to mentally prepare for a dinner that will likely be a comedy of errors.

* * *

My heart jumps and immediately starts pounding intensely in my chest when I hear the doorbell ring. I'm glued to my spot on the floor, overly anxious about what might happen tonight. My mom stares at me – being the only one not preoccupied with preparations – expecting me to go open the door. When it rings a second time and I still haven't moved to get it, she sighs in exasperation and goes to answer the door herself.

I hear the click of the lock and the creak of the door before Peeta's polite, talking-to-grownups voice is heard from the front steps.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Mrs. Everdeen. Umm, I hope you don't mind, my dad's in –"

"Benji?" Mom interjects, eying the man standing behind Peeta.

My feet finally find their ability to move as curiosity wins out.

"Anna?" Peeta's father replies disbelievingly.

Peeta looks back and forth between our parents, his face as perplexed as mine. "So, uh, you two know each other?"

My mother waves them all inside the house, reaching her arms out to Peeta's dad as he enters. Watching them share a friendly embrace is enough to make the rest of us drop our jaws. While it's not entirely impossible for them to be acquainted with one another – maybe my mom has been to their family's café – we haven't the slightest idea how they could possibly be familiar enough to be sharing hugs and have nicknames for one another.

"Benji, it's been ages since I'd last seen you! Not since before I even had Katniss," my mother says, negating my café theory since Peeta's family opened that up after he was born. "_Mellark_! I can't even believe I didn't put two and two together when I met Peeta."

Mr. Mellark blushes and dabs his forehead with a handkerchief. "Well, when Peeta said his neighbor was from Detroit, I didn't think I'd actually know you!"

Peeta and I share a quizzical look and the three other companions are equally alienated from this mysterious reunion.

"So is anyone going to explain the chumminess here or is this some kind of weird party game?" Haymitch butts in, waving his hand lazily between our parents. "If it is, I'm gonna need a little more alcohol to play."

Peeta removes his jacket and I take it to hang up in the closet. My mom does the same for Haymitch and Mr. Mellark. With the exception of Gale, who returns to engrossing himself in the televised game, we all herd into the kitchen to unpack all the food that they brought over to share. Haymitch, of course, contributes two bottles of wine. Mr. Mellark and Peeta share three pies they baked themselves – apple, cherry, and pecan – still warm from the oven and picture perfect. I arrange them on various cake stands alongside the store-bought pumpkin pie the Gale purchased which looks stale and deflated by comparison.

"Anna and I went to high school together," Mr. Mellark finally tells us, smiling at my mom.

Peeta leans over to me and whispers, "Small world. Do you ever feel like we, maybe, live in a glass jar or something?"

"Try a petri dish," I reply.

My mother smiles coyly and adds, "We were prom dates, actually."

"You were… what? How… and you-" I was at a complete loss for words. How in the world did my mom and Peeta's dad share such a significant past and we never knew about it? I turn to Peeta, hoping maybe he could put words to what we must both be feeling – after all, that's always been his strength – but for a man of many words, Peeta is as dumbstruck as I am.

"Wait, you two weren't, like, boyfriend and girlfriend in high school, were you?" Peeta asks, his face already becoming peaked in anticipation of their answer.

Our parents chuckle at his question. "No, no," my mother replies and Peeta and I both let out audible sighs of relief. "Benji was just a friend. I was supposed to go to prom with, um, what's his name?"

"Oh, Stan! Stanley Westfield!" Peeta's dad fills in. "But his grandmother passed away a week before prom and his family went out of the town for the funeral."

"Peeta," Mom addresses him, putting her hand gently on his father's arm. "Your dad was so kind to offer to take me instead."

"Oh, that wasn't just kindness. Who would turn down an opening for a hot prom date?" Mr. Mellark says with a wink at my mom.

"Ugh, _Dad_!" Peeta groans. "Can you not talk like that?"

Peeta turns and walks back out to the living room and I follow on his heels, our parents laughing at our expense. The idea of _old_ people on a date at all is enough to make our stomachs churn, but our _parents_? I can't even begin to describe how awkward that feels.

We glance briefly at one another, our expressions loaded with mortification and bewilderment. He must be thinking what I am thinking – the implication our parents' past involvement has on our own and if that connection makes us "predestined" or "star-crossed". It's creepy to think about as my mind drifts into the realm of 'what ifs'. We can't talk about it or lament out loud because Gale is sitting right in front of us, but Peeta's visible shudder confirms our telepathically shared thoughts.

The adults file into the dining room, hauling trays upon trays of food and spreading them out on the table. I tap Gale on the shoulder to summon him to the festivities and he begrudgingly turns the TV off. Prim comes down the hall pushing a desk chair along its casters from the den and rearranges the dining chairs to make room for it. She apologizes to Mr. Mellark for not having a conventional seat for him since we don't have much in the way of furniture.

"Oh, that's quite all right, Primrose," he says, tapping the tip of her nose. "It's my fault for coming unexpectedly."

"Please," my mother interjects. "It is a pleasant surprise to have you here. Before we eat, why don't we all share one thing we're thankful for?"

Haymitch and I both let out groans of protest, but go along with it nonetheless. I settle myself into a chair between Prim and Gale and directly across the table from Peeta.

"I'll start!" Prim chimes in enthusiastically. "I'm thankful that we moved to California and that we have really fun neighbors, and Gale moved here too, and for my own bedroom – even though I kind of miss talking to my sister before I sleep – and for the beach, and –"

"Okay, Prim, just _one_ thing, Mom said!" I tease her and everyone laughs before turning their attention towards me. "Oh, umm… I guess I'll go next. Uh, I'm grateful for… the ability to wear flip-flops in November."

Everybody scoffs at my answer. Gale elbows me and says, "Way to go, Catnip. Prim has a list a mile long of the things she's thankful for and you're thankful for _flip-flops_?"

"Okay, Hawthorne," I say, throwing a mock scowl in his direction. "What profound thing are you thankful for?"

He wrinkles his brows in deep thought. "Well, obviously, I'm very thankful for my football scholarship – that I get to do what I love and not have to worry so much about how to pay for it. But I'm also really thankful to have the Everdeens close by to feed me!"

The group shares another laugh as Gale pats my mother's hand in gratitude.

"Well, I'm thankful that that jerk, Seneca Crane is locked up and I got my money back!" Haymitch exclaims unexpectedly.

"What?" Mr. Mellark asks, puzzled. "What are you talking about, Haymitch?"

This causes Haymitch to tense up, realizing he just blurted out classified information in front Peeta's dad and no one wants to be the one to explain.

Haymitch just shrugs. "I don't know. I'm drunk. Just ignore me."

"I'll go next, I guess," says Peeta. "I'm grateful to have some really special people in my life. And even if we can't be together, I'm thankful for the memories and the opportunity to love them."

His gaze locks just momentarily with mine and I know he's talking to me. I look around me nervously expecting the others to be assessing my reaction, but I find that they're all looking at Mr. Mellark anxiously. His countenance has fallen as guilt sets in. I'm glad the attention is drawn away from me, but I can't help the tinge of resentment I feel for this man. It's probably hypocritical of me, seeing as that Peeta was just as much referring to me, but he's different. He's his _father._

"Well, I know it's been a long time since we've seen each other, but I'm thankful for the chance to come visit you, Son," he says apologetically to Peeta.

My eyebrows knit at his statement. "Why did you? Come here, I mean."

"_Katniss_," my mother says with a hint of warning.

"What? I'm just curious." I shrug, feigning ignorance, but I'm not fooling Peeta who shoots me a quizzical look. "Peeta's been here for a couple years now, right? I'm just wondering what made you decide to visit now."

Peeta and Prim simultaneously kick me under the table and my mom purses her lips at me. Gale's leg is bouncing impatiently next to me as I'm sure he's just eager to start eating and Haymitch slumps at one end of the table, swishing around his half-glass of wine.

"Well, Katniss," Peeta's father says to me. "It _is_ Thanksgiving. I don't think it's that unusual to visit family around the holidays, is it?"

Peeta's glare is boring into me now, begging me to drop the passive aggressive attack on his dad.

"No, I guess not," I concede. "I'm sure Peeta's happy to see you after all this time."

Mr. Mellark averts his gaze and doesn't address or look at me again for some time. It suddenly dawns on me why I feel strangely distrustful of this man. He's a coward. When his wife was abusive towards Peeta, Mr. Mellark didn't stand up to her. He didn't man up and protect his son. He sent Peeta away. I begin to feel like, even though he had never laid on hand on his son, he was just as much a participant in Peeta's suffering.

We all make contrived small talk while we stuff ourselves full of turkey, stuffing, and mashed potatoes. Mr. Mellark asks Haymitch about his auditions, Haymitch asks Gale about football, Gale asks Prim about school, Prim asks Mom about dessert, Mom asks Mr. Mellark about the café. Peeta and I stay pretty silent the whole time, preoccupying our mouths with way too much food and no one really bothers us with any questions. The discomfort from my earlier remarks seems to be fading when my mom innocently brings up Mrs. Mellark.

"So how's everyone back home, Benji? How's Helen?" My eyes dart up from my plate to where Peeta is sitting placing an unnatural amount of concentration on his mound of peas.

Mr. Mellark hesitates far too long, drawing everyone's attention to his ensuing response. "Umm… she's alright. I suppose," he finally says quietly.

Peeta turns to his dad. "You _suppose_?"

The older man puts down his fork and nervously wipes his mouth with the green napkin. "Peeta, this is probably not the best time and place to discuss this."

I can tell by the look on his face that Peeta is nearly fed up with all the surprises concerning his father. His nostrils are flaring just slightly and he's clenching his fork to tightly, the veins on the back of his hands are showing through his skin.

"Why not, Dad? We're amongst family and old friends, aren't we?" he says derisively. "We all go _way _back. No use in keeping sec– "

"We're separated," Mr. Mellark admits quickly to extinguish Peeta's growing outburst. The table is suddenly silent out of, what, awkwardness? Politeness? Shock? Gale's fork is poking at a piece of ham and I know he wants to continue eating, as none of this issue concerns him, but he doesn't want to be the only one. "I moved out about a month ago. I've been staying in the loft above the café."

Peeta just stares at his father, dumbfounded. We're all waiting for Peeta to break the ice, to rid the table of this impasse we find ourselves in because we don't know what else to say or do. I want Prim to say something lighthearted or even for Haymitch to go ahead and make an irreverent joke just to get it over with. But we wait for one of the two Mellarks to cut the thick tension.

Peeta swallows audibly, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. I'm a bit taken aback by his seemingly troubled reaction. He's not fond of his mother for obvious reasons. I would think he might actually be happy his father got out from under her regime. Peeta should be grateful that his father no longer has to make tough decisions out of fear for that wretched woman. He and the boys can now live in peace. Why is Peeta upset?

Then it occurs to me. Is Mr. Mellark here to bring Peeta back?

As Peeta and his father finally make moves to go speak privately in the den, everyone's shoulders and expressions relax. The sounds of forks and knives clinking against the china resume.

"Well, it's about time Ben got outta there," Haymitch finally blurts out, a few minutes too late. "I love my sister and all, but there is no amount of booze that could make living with her bearable!"

Haymitch guffaws and Prim and I chuckle quietly under our breaths, but our mom is not amused and Gale has completely lost interest in the situation entirely. The hum of their baritone voices can be heard through the walls, but I can't make out anything they're saying, but there's no yelling, so maybe that's a good sign, although, neither of them strike me as the yelling type. That might be Mrs. Mellark's unique role in the family.

Peeta and his dad eventually return, their moods brighter. Dinner finishes uneventfully and we all indulge in a slice or two of the mouthwatering pies. Gale is a little bitter that his contribution is upstaged by the Mellarks', but Peeta's dad kindly take a slice of the store-bought pumpkin pie and finishes it off in minutes.

When dinner is over, Prim and I dutifully clear the table and go to load the dishwasher. Haymitch splays himself unceremoniously on the recliner and lets the tryptophan and alcohol take over. Mom and Mr. Mellark stay at the table chatting over cups of tea while Gale and Peeta lose themselves in the final six minutes of the football game.

"Mom and Mr. Mellark seem to be good friends," Prim says observantly as she sprays the plates down. "I didn't know they knew each other when they were younger."

I arrange the dishes methodically in the rack to optimize the space.

"Neither did I," I reply trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. I don't want to lend any subtext to what Prim can see.

"Gale and Peeta seem to be getting along, too," she adds, nodding her chin in the direction of the living room.

I follow her gesture, pausing from my chore to observe the two guys bouncing up and down on the couch, their unblinking eyes fixed on the action playing out on screen.

"Dude, I can't believe you're a Cowboys fan! They're terrible!" Peeta says to Gale, shaking his head in disbelief.

"_Dude,_" Gale replies, playfully mocking Peeta. "I'm not a _Cowboys_ fan. I'm a football fan. I just like a good game, no matter who's playing… unless it's the Lions, of course."

Peeta turns his body on the couch to fully face Gale. "This is not good football, man."

"I beg to differ," says Gale, mirroring Peeta's position. "It's the 2-minute warning and Dallas is one score behind. If they can recover the on-sides kick and get a couple more yards, they'll be in field goal range. C'mon, you can't tell me they're playing pitifully and still keeping it close!"

"Okay, okay, true that," Peeta admits, turning back towards the television. "But five bucks says they can't do more than tie and go into overtime. No way Baltimore's defense is going to let them in the end zone."

Gale sticks out his hand to shake Peeta's. "Alright, I'll take that bet. You're on."

I smile at their exchange, secretly excited about the newfound camaraderie.

"Go," Prim says, waving me away from the dishwasher. "Go hang out with them. I'll finish this."

I smile my thanks and amble to the living room to join the guys. I lean on the back of the couch, more absorbed in their conversation than what is happening on TV. From what I catch, Dallas does not succeed in recovering the ball and Baltimore runs out the clock in a lackluster ending. But the light-hearted argument between Gale and Peeta that follows is what really gets my attention. Peeta demands Gale pay up. Gale insists that Peeta's prediction didn't come true, so he doesn't owe him. Peeta contends that his bet was that the Cowboys wouldn't score a touchdown, but Gale claims that Peeta bet they'd get a field goal and tie. It goes back and forth for some time until Gale finally gives in and goes to get his wallet.

Peeta looks over his shoulder at my smug expression. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just nice to see you two getting along," I say trying to stifle my smile. Peeta just shakes his head in disbelief, playfully pushing my elbow off the back of the couch. Now that I have a moment alone with him, I can't help but ask, "Hey… is everything okay? Like, with your dad?"

"Yeah," Peeta replies. "I think so. I'm not mad at him or anything. Just took me by surprise."

I nod. "Are you thinking about moving back to Detroit now?"

I don't know why I just blurted that question out. I must sound too eager. Peeta probably thinks I'm hopeful that he leaves. But that's not the case at all. I'm more worried that he'll consider it. For all the confusion that surrounds us, I don't want to lose a friend.

"I don't know. I haven't thought about it," he shrugs. "I mean, my dad and I didn't disc –"

"Alright, here you go," Gale says as he returns with a five dollar bill and hands it to Peeta reluctantly.

"Thank you, Mr. Lincoln," Peeta says, dramatically flapping the piece of paper before kissing it and stuffing it into his pocket.

"Gross," I say with a grimace. "Do you know where that bill has been?"

Peeta shrugs and makes a face of indifference. "Eh. You know how where my lips have been?"

I roll my eyes and get up to leave while Gale laughs in ignorance.

I turn back and quietly say, "Just let me know where they plan on going, okay?"

* * *

_**A/N – **__My head hurts. Just so you know, I'm hating writing right now. It sucks. I'm trying to keep up a decent updating schedule, but I feel like I'm rushing to keep relevant, but I'm not writing what I want. So, just a warning… I may or may not be slowing down a bit just to find some inspiration and motivation. Feel free to (kindly) badger me when I'm taking too long._


	7. It's Not Easy Being Green

_**A/N: **__Ugh. So sorry. This rut is like an annoying house guest. Just won't leave! Anyway, I'm sorry for the delay. In fairness, I warned you. :P But thank you to all those that dropped me a comment or PM to nudge me along. You were all very kind and encouraging and understanding!_

_But I wasn't completely useless! I drew some fan art (you can view them on my Tumblr - **ProneToObsess**. I linked a Fan Art/Edits page on my blog) and wrote a quick one-shot called __**Scarred**__. It's posted here, so you can check it on my profile if you haven't already._

_Alright, you've waited long enough._

* * *

_**Chapter 7: It's Not Easy Being Green**_

"Do they still make encyclopedias anymore?" I ask, flipping through my history book in frustration. "I seriously have no clue where to begin researching for this dumb project."

Gale scrubs the grease off his hands in the garage sink and wipes them off with an old t-shirt rag. "My offer still stands, you know. You're welcome to come to my campus and use the University library if you need more resources," he reiterates. "I'm going there tomorrow. I can pick you up after school if you want."

"Yeah, I think I will. Thanks." I nod and take my mother's car keys back from Gale.

"No biggie. Bristel and I have to work on our research project anyway."

I stop what I am doing when her name enters the conversation. My shoulders go stiff and I stare absently at my textbook, the words on the page just a clouded blur.

"Bristel? She's going to be there?" I ask trying to sound as disinterested as possible.

"Yeah, but you don't have to stay with us or anything. You're free to roam about the library as you need to," he replies, unzipping and peeling off his coveralls. "Well, I need to get going. Tell your mom she's good to go for the next 3,000 miles or three months – whichever comes first."

"Okay. Thanks for the oil change," I say, meeting his hug. "See you tomorrow then."

After Gale leaves, I can't help but dwell on the idea of seeing Bristel again. Even if they'll be there working on school related business, I'm certain she'll be using it as an excuse to touch him and flirt with him. The thought makes my stomach churn.

Later that night, I hole myself up in my room, using my homework as a means to stop dwelling on "Miss Big-Boobs" infringing on my time with my best friend. As I am tearing holes through my paper while factoring out polynomials, my phone rings giving me a welcomed distraction from my distraction. I recognize Peeta's voice without introduction and he doesn't bother with any formalities.

"You guys are reading _The Canterbury Tales _in your English class, right?" he asks, his voice breathless and somewhat frantic.

"Yes," I reply, sounding more like a question than a statement.

Peeta breathes a sigh of relief. "Please tell me you brought home your book. I'm supposed to me writing my report, but I left it in my jeep, and my uncle took my car to go to some meeting where he didn't want to look like a pretentious jerk going through a midlife crisis while driving his new Porsche which, oddly enough, is precisely _why _he bought a Porsche, but now I –"

"Yes, Peeta, you can borrow it," I cut in, laughing at his frenzy. "You're starting to sound like Delly."

"Yikes! Can't let that happen!" he says. "I'll be there in two seconds. Thanks!"

After we hang up our call, I immediately retrieve my backpack from under my desk, excavating it for my overused paperback copy of our current English Literature assignment which is being held together by layers of clear packaging tape. I descend down the steps to wait for his arrival, but before I can make it even halfway down the staircase, a hardy knock sounds from the front door. I gallop down the remaining steps to answer the door before Prim or my mother get a chance to. When I swing the door open, Peeta is there, marching in place and rubbing his hands to ward off the chilly evening air.

"Here you go," I say, handing over the book to him. "Just be careful. Pages are already falling out, and I'm only halfway through it."

Peeta leafs gingerly through the sheets. "Thank you so much. I'm already so behind on all my work. Drama Club is pretty demanding." I nod in agreement. "I haven't even started on that History assignment either."

My attention perks up as my brief respite from obsessing over tomorrow's field trip to USC's campus library with Gale, Bristel, and the "Bobbsey Twins" is disrupted. I scowl inwardly at the reminder, but then another idea occurs to me.

"Hey, do you want to come with me tomorrow to Gale's school? I'm going to use the library on campus to research for that History project. You're welcome to come with me," I invite him. "I mean, I'm sure they have a lot more resources there."

He smiles and his eyes flash a glimmer of hopefulness. I know my motives are not entirely noble. I just don't want to be the third wheel in Gale and Bristel's chemistry experiment – or was it physics? It would be far more tolerable if I had someone else to talk to and share ideas with. And I'm sure I'd get a lot more done if I had someone from class who can help shed light on what we're doing.

"Yeah, that would be great!" Guilt settles at the bottom of my stomach and I can't pinpoint its origin. "Do you need a ride there?"

"Oh, um, Gale was going to pick me up, but I can ride with you, if that's okay," I answer.

Peeta agrees and leaves shortly afterward as he had already started shivering and I hadn't bothered to invite him inside. I return to finishing up my math homework, thinking I would feel better about spending time with Gale and Bristel tomorrow now that I won't be the odd man out, but somehow I might actually feel worse, and I can't, for the life of me, figure out why.

* * *

We don't have Drama Club after school today, so when sixth period lets out, Peeta and I immediately head towards the parking lot. The ocean of students pack the hallways and people are stopping us – well, Peeta actually – every ten feet or so to bump fists or give pseudo-shy, flirtatious finger waves at him. I hadn't noticed before how _popular _Peeta really is at school. Maybe it was because I spent a month avoiding him and just meeting him at his car or because Drama Club gets out so late that most of the other students are long gone by then, or maybe it's because I am in such a hurry to go that all of these obstacles seem to take extra long today, but right about now, I'm wishing Peeta was a little less friendly.

After Cashmere stops Peeta to invite him to the Pep Rally this evening, which he politely declines, placing his hand on my waist and escorting me out to avoid further delays, I hear her scoff and mumble to her companions that he's wasting his time with me. But it's not Cashmere's snide remark that has me flustered. It's the heat penetrating my lower back from Peeta's authoritative steering that has my attention. I don't make any attempt to wriggle away or move on my own accord since he's actually doing a better job of navigating the obstacles. Peeta averts his gaze toward the ground and pulls the bill of his cap downward, avoiding further eye contact with anyone we pass the rest of the way, his hand gripping me until we've finally reached the car.

Once we are safely seated in his jeep, Peeta starts his engine and mumbles an apology.

"Eh, there's nothing to be sorry about," I say. "It's not your fault you're so popular."

He cringes at my choice of words.

"I'm not. But that's not what I meant." He pulls carefully out of the school lot, pausing at the exit for a throng of students to cross before turning out onto the main street. "I mean I'm sorry about what Cashmere said."

I give him a wave of dismissal. "Please. I have thicker skin than that. I don't care what some stupid gossip says about me. It wouldn't be the first time someone said something bad about me."

He simply nods and changes the subject to our impending History project.

The USC campus is about a twenty-minute drive from our school. On the way, we pass the Sunset Shores Country Club where we had worked all summer, triggering a flood of mixed memories.

"Have you been back to the club since summer?" Peeta asks casually.

I shake my head. "No. My grandparents invited us to dinner there once, but my mom had to work. You?"

"Gosh, no," Peeta guffaws. "I'm afraid if I do, they'll hand me a toilet plunger and tell me to get to work!"

He merges onto the lane that exits towards the university.

"Well, you're not easily replaced," I tell him trying to be nice before realizing I was probably being a little _too_ nice. "I-I mean, because you have a lot of skills… for work!"

Peeta smirks, but thankfully doesn't turn to look at my flushed face, nor does he say anything to draw attention to my slip up.

He pulls into the parking structure on the east end of the campus, as per Gale's instructions, and winds up the ramps until he finds a vacant space on the very top floor. I lead us to the pedestrian bridge that connects to the main campus. As we make our trek, my loaded satchel slides repeatedly off my shoulder. Each time, I hike it back up, huffing with annoyance.

"Here, let me get that," Peeta offers, only drawing more annoyance from me.

"I got it."

I finally take the strap and pull it over my head to rest it on the opposite shoulder resolving the issue altogether. Peeta puts his hands up in surrender and lets me manage my belongings on my own.

After following the directions on the large directory map, we find Gale and Bristol waiting for us under the arched stone entrance of the grandiose library. She's wearing a fitted sweater and sheepskin boots, but her miniskirt leads me to believe she's confused about what season it is. Bristol has her back to us, but when Gale looks up in our direction, she whips her dark, wavy hair around and flashes me an artificially effervescent smile.

"Hey, Catnip! Peeta," Gale greets us.

"Good seeing you again, Catnip," Bristel adds.

Gale, Peeta, and I all turn to her with a range of scowls.

"It's Kat-_niss_," I correct her, reciprocating her earlier smile mockingly.

Her cheeks blush furiously as she stumbles to regain her composure. "I-I'm sorry. I j-just thought..."

"It's okay. I don't even get to call her 'Catnip,'" Peeta interjects in his usual chivalrous manner. "It's Gale's nickname for her. I'm Peeta, by the way."

Bristel quickly recovers her overconfidence, and I can't help but roll my eyes at Peeta's intervention. I was rather enjoying having made her uncomfortable. I don't like how familiar she is trying to be with me. And I certainly don't like how she is trying to weasel her way closer to Gale.

"Great. Now that we all know each other's names, shall we go in?" Gale prods.

He straps on his backpack then grabs Bristel's pink polk-dotted laptop bag and stack of science books from the brick ledge where she left them before gesturing for us to follow him inside. She rubs his arm in gratitude while she twirls a strand of hair with her other free hand. I readjust the strap of my own bag, which has begun to cut into my neck, and follow Gale's lead, ignoring Peeta's silent 'I told you so' expression.

Once inside, Gale approaches a clerk at the front desk to ask where the American History stacks can be found. While we wait, Peeta makes small talk with Bristel. As it turns out, the dumb airhead routine is just an act. She informs Peeta that she is majoring in Aerospace Engineering and minoring in Dance. Peeta utters something about liking a girl that uses both sides of her brain, and I have to try my hardest to keep down my lunch. Thankfully, Gale returns before we can find out if Bristel reads to the blind on the weekends, too.

"Alright, you guys are gonna want to go to the second floor in the East wing," Gale relays to Peeta and me. "Bristel and I will find a quiet study room upstairs, too. You can just join us when you've found what you need."

We all head up the main staircase to the upper level where we split up – Gale and Bristel towards the private study rooms, Peeta and I towards the History section. He and I work independently for the most part, looking up our individual topics on the computer catalogues and browsing the stacks for the suggested resources.

I trace my fingers along the bottom edge of the row of books, searching for my book's assigned Dewey decimal number. I stop when I land on _The War of 1812. _When I extract it from its home on the shelf, a pair of confused blue eyes greet me from the other side.

"Find anything?" I ask through the narrow gap between books.

Peeta scratches his head and gives his side of the stack a onceover. "Well, I can see why it was called 'The Great Depression.' Researching it is starting to feel that way."

"Okay, well, I'm going to go find Gale and Bristel. Come join us when you're done," I say dismissively, and begin walking away.

"Wait!" Peeta calls after me in a whispered shout. I step back into his line of sight. "You already found everything you needed?"

I hold up my three books to answer his question then dart off in search of our companions' study room.

I spy Gale through a large glass window, leaning over Bristel's shoulder as she reads from a highlighted passage in her book. My hand reaches for the doorknob and I make sure to make a loud, obnoxious production of entering the room, swinging the door open flagrantly and sighing loudly to announce my arrival.

"Whew!" I say, interrupting their concentration and drawing their eyes my way. "I'm so glad I found you two! I almost walked into a room full of pretentious hipsters back there!"

Their puzzled gazes follow me as I cross the room and slam my books unceremoniously down on the opposite end of the table.

"So you're good now?" Gale asks, his eyebrows cocked in suspicion.

"Mm-hmm," I nod with a saccharine smile.

They return to their reading, their heads leaning impossibly close. I attempt to preoccupy myself with my own text, but I find myself peering over the top of my book periodically to see what the two are up to.

Gale is drawing some diagram on his notebook, fully engrossed in his explanation, when Bristel tilts her head and sneaks a whiff of his cologne. I make no effort to mask my eye roll, but neither of them is paying any attention to me anyway. Gale turns to her – either to check for understanding or because he caught her sniffing for pheromones – and she bites her bottom lip presumptuously.

Just as Bristel is laying her hand over Gale's to "get a better view of his diagram," Peeta walks in, toting a generous heap of books.

"Sorry," he whispers. "Don't let me interrupt. Carry on."

Peeta chooses the chair beside me and begins meticulously arranging his books, notebook, laptop, and writing instruments in a perfect grid before peeling off his sweater and settling into his seat. I'm so fixated on Peeta's routine that I lose track of what Gale and Bristel are up to until I hear her giggle across the table. My attention is drawn to them once again.

"…going to do?"

"Huh?" I look back at Peeta, puzzled. "What did you say?"

He quickly glances at the others as if trying to figure out why I'm so distracted. "I was just asking if you knew what type of presentation you're going to do. You know, since we can choose to write a paper, do an art project, Power Point presentation…"

"Oh gosh, I'm just writing a paper. I'm no good at the other options," I tell him. "You?"

We both notice our room companions have gone quiet. When we glance their way, we find their attention on us.

"Sorry, we'll keep it down," Peeta apologizes. He then leans in very close to me and brings his voice down low. "I'm thinking I want to do some art project of some sort. Haven't quite figured out what yet."

His face is painfully close to mine, the heat of his breath brushing the side of my cheek. Before I realize what I'm doing, my hand reaches out to squeeze the one he has draped over the arm of his chair. I turn to face him, our noses an inch from each other.

"I'm sure whatever you decide will look amazing," I whisper.

Peeta rewards my vote of confidence with a bright smile before he dives into the resources he's gathered. He whistles softly to himself as he scribbles notes and rough sketches all over his notebook paper. Meanwhile, I am doing the bare minimum that could qualify as research – skimming the pages and marking them with brightly colored tape flags to photocopy later.

Across from us, Gale is quietly explaining something about torque. I don't understand anything he's saying, but that is the least of my concerns. Bristel, however, seems so engrossed in every syllable that comes out of Gale's mouth, her eyes fixate on his moving lips and her hands continue to find excuses to touch him. Gale doesn't seem to think any of this strange.

Beside me, Peeta already has his page covered in words and pictures and circles and arrows. He looks up to trade his pencil for a highlighter, but pauses to nod his head at me.

"Are you actually doing anything over there, Everdeen?" he asks teasingly.

I notice a piece of lint on his bangs in a shade that matches his sweater. I don't hesitate to brush it away, letting my fingers linger in the soft strands. I brush away a blonde curl that has fallen over his forehead, which wrinkles with his furrowed brow. His eyes study me with confusion, or maybe even suspicion, but he chooses not to say anything out loud to me.

"You had a little, uh, something in your hair," I explain, then show him the speck of lint to throw off his distrust.

Peeta nods and returns to his work. I close and gather the books I have flagged, and stand up suddenly. Three pairs of eyes glance my way, so I announce, "I'm going to go find a Xerox machine." While they're all still looking at me, I graze my hand across Peeta's back, squeezing his shoulder for good measure, and tell him, "I'll be right back."

He forces a polite smile to accompany the quizzical look in his eyes, but I walk away before he can ask any awkward questions.

It takes me a good half hour and three dollars on a copy card to finish making all the necessary copies. When I finally make it back to the study room, Bristel is typing up something on her laptop while Gale looks on in anticipation. Peeta looks up at me from his notebook, his gaze following me back to my seat.

"Oh, my gosh! Bristel, you are freakin' amazing!" Gale practically shouts, grabbing his face in disbelief. "I can't believe you figured that out."

She feigns modesty at his high praise of her. "Oh, it was no big deal…"

"Are you kidding? I've been trying to figure that out all day," he says, gesturing at the computer screen. Gale looks up at Peeta and me who have been gawking uncomprehendingly at them. "I'm sorry. I just got excited. I'll keep it down."

Peeta returns to his sketching, nibbling on his bottom lip in concentration.

"Wow!" I marvel, taking note of the entire storyboard that has taken shape on his notebook page. "That's… that's _really _good, Peeta! You did all that while I was gone?"

He leans back from his work and cocks his head to examine it. "Well, it's just a rough sketch, but I think I'm going to go this route with a comic strip type thing."

I'm genuinely in awe of Peeta's artistry that my praise of him comes out of my control. I don't even realize that I've disrupted Gale and Bristel with my voice until Gale's booms louder from across the table, puffing up his partner's ego.

"You know, it's really unfair that art comes so easy for you," I tell Peeta, trying to drown out the competing conversation taking place before me. "You're probably going to get, like, 200% on this project just because Fuller's an art geek, and it would have taken you, what, an _hour_?"

Peeta begins saying something encouraging to me, but I fail to catch it all when Gale leans in to give Bristel a congratulatory hug on her rocket science voodoo skills. I turn back to Peeta, preparing my half-smile, when I find him shutting his notebook and packing up his belongings back into his backpack.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

"I'm finished here," he replies somewhat coldly. "I need to get going. I didn't even tell my uncle I'd be home late today."

"Umm, ok." I stand up to put my papers and supplies away, confused about his sudden turn in demeanor. Peeta waits impatiently as I fumble around to gather up my effects. I slide my bag off my shoulder and hold it out to him. "Would you mind holding this for me?"

Peeta obliges, but his tight-lipped expression tells me he's not as ready and willing as he was earlier.

We each thank Gale for his invitation. Peeta gives Bristel another gracious handshake. I simply nod in her general direction before heading out and following Peeta's beeline out of the building.

I trail behind his long strides all the way to the main lobby. "Wait, Peeta, slow down."

"What the hell was _that_ about?" Peeta turns and hisses at me, trying to keep his aggravation at a whisper.

"What?" I reply, cowering from his rising temper.

"You know damn well, what I'm talking about, Katniss." His voice has risen to an audible level, prompting the front desk attendant to clear her throat and glare at us over her thick-rimmed glasses. Peeta grabs me by my elbow and ushers me out the glass doors to the front steps of the library. "Care to explain to me what all that touching and _flirting_ was about?"

I turn my head away, letting the breeze whip my loose hair over my face to conceal my embarrassment.

"_Flirting_?" I scoff, failing miserably at selling my naiveté. "You think I was flirting with you?"

He rolls his eyes at me in frustration. "Please. Ever since summer ended, you've been treating me like I have leprosy. Now, all of a sudden, you're running your fingers through my hair and touching my hand and letting me carry your crap…"

"Well, excuse me for being friendly!"

Peeta tosses my messenger bag on the ground between us. "Cut the B.S., Katniss. You weren't being 'friendly.' You were being a selfish, insecure little child. You saw Gale and some pretty girl getting along, and you got jealous," he lashes out at me, and I cross my arms in front of me protectively. "So what? You brought me along to get back him? To make him jealous?"

"No, I –"

"Well, I'm not just a piece in your little games, Katniss!" he shouts at me before realizing we were not alone. His outburst draws stares of irritation and curiosity from the people nearby. Peeta takes a step closer to me and says in a more restrained voice, "I am a person with feelings – feelings you are fully aware of – and if you're still trying to figure out what you feel about me or, worse, _another guy_, then don't use me to get to him."

I just stand there dumbfounded. What am I supposed to say to him? I can't deny his allegations. As horrible as it makes me feel to have hurt him, I don't even know why I did it. I don't even know what compelled me to disregard Peeta like that.

It has been an upward climb trying to get to a neutral place in our relationship. We've been through the spectrum of awkwardness, indifference, jealousy, and even anger. But this is much different, I can sense. This is not just some misunderstanding we'll clear up in a few days.

His eyes bore into me with a mix of hurt, rage, sadness, and frustration. I don't even make an attempt at explaining myself. In a moment, I'm watching Peeta walk away, leaving me on the library steps.

I slump down, scooping up the books that slid out of my bag when Peeta threw it down. I'm not sure how long I just sit there on the top of the steps, trying to sort my motives and figure out how to fix this, wondering if I should even bother, and realizing my ride home has left me behind. Eventually, the weight of a heavy wool jacket presses on my shoulder and Gale settles down next to me on the step.

"Hey, what are you doing out here? Where did Peeta go?" he asks, blowing air onto his hands then tucking them under his arms for warmth.

I pull Gale's jacket from my back and spread it gingerly over both our knees. I'm buying time. I don't really know how to answer Gale without opening up a Pandora's box of information I'm still not ready to share with him.

"Umm, something came up – an emergency or something. Peeta had to leave," I finally say.

Lies. More lies.

"Do you need a ride home?" Gale offers.

"You don't have to take me if you're still working," I say trying to hide my bitterness. "I can take the bus."

He pulls the jacket off of us and drapes it over his arm, extending the other in offering to me. "Nonsense. I'll take you home. Bristel ran into her sorority sisters inside, so I think our study session is officially over."

I take hold of his hand and allow him to pull me up. As we walk across campus to get to where his car is parked, I begin to relax under the sense of security I've always had with Gale. Stripped of Peeta or Bristel or any other outsiders, here is where I'm comfortable. Where it is easy. Where it is safe.

And suddenly my motives have become clear.

Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else is unthinkable.*

* * *

_**/Ducking from flying rotten tomatoes/**_

_**Even though I must steel myself for the hate mail I might get for this chapter, I'd still love to hear from you! Please leave a review! Thanks!**_

_**Oh! And if anyone has a Tumblr blog, let me know your URL! I'd love to find new people to follow! :)**_

_*Catching Fire _pg. 117


	8. Much Ado About Everything

_**Disclaimer:**__ I do not own The Hunger Games or its characters. I just kidnap and torture them for your entertainment. Oh, shoot, I'm President Snow!_

_**A/N: **__Thank you for your amazing response to the last chapter – even though I know most of you HATED what happened, you were all so kind in your reviews, and so trusting of where this is all going. Just keep that thought in your mind. You're going to need it!_

_I'm terrible. I'm so sorry I've been so slow with the updates. I hope I'm not losing your interest! This chapter's a little longer than usual, if that's any consolation!_

_**Quick recap of Ch. 7:**__ Katniss and Peeta go on a study date to Gale's school where Katniss gets all jealous of Gale's flirtatious lab partner. She flirts with Peeta to get back at Gale and try to make him jealous. Peeta catches on and gets mad at her for using him. He leaves her at USC._

_And now, on with the show…_

* * *

_**Chapter 8: Much Ado About Everything**_

"Okay, seriously, I'm going to need a calendar of your menstrual cycle," Delly says, peering out from behind my locker door.

"What?" I reply, perplexed. I pack my Chemistry book into my book bag and slam the door shut, rotating the dial of the combination lock out of habit.

Delly leans on the locker beside mine and crosses her arms. "Well, you and Peeta seem to get into some dumb fight just about once a month. I figure PMS must be the only logical explanation. So I just need to know when I can expect to wear myself thin trying to be a friend to both of you separately."

"Are you implying that our fights are always _my_ fault?" I ask, sliding the strap up to my shoulder and heading down the hall towards the auditorium.

Delly skips to catch up with my strides. "Nooo. Just because you're the one with the monthly period, doesn't mean the guy can't be a jerk. Even Peeta."

We weave through the crowd heading in the opposite direction on their way to the parking lot.

"Well, it was me that was the jerk this time," I admit, not even looking her way. "And sadly, I can't even blame my estrogen levels."

She looks at me with her doe eyes, dripping with sympathy. "Sorry. I know you're probably having a hard time with all this back and forth with Peeta. I shouldn't be making this about me."

We stop when we near the entrance to the auditorium as I eye the doors reluctantly.

"No, I'm sorry. It's really not fair that you keep getting thrown into the middle of things, Delly," I apologize, reaching out to squeeze her arm. "Look, I know you and Peeta have been close friends for a long time. I would completely understand if you needed to be there for him. You don't need to feel obligated to split your time and affections with us equally."

"Oh, please," she replies, rolling her eyes at me. "I don't feel _obligated._ Believe it or not, I actually love you, too. I just want you two to work things out. You're so good for each other."

"Delly, I don't –"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But newsflash – a guy and a girl can break up and still have a strong, platonic relationship. Peeta and I are proof positive! Okay, well, I know what you're going to say. We didn't really _date_ date, but still. Relationships and romance –they can be messy. But they don't always have to end badly." Delly holds up her key and jingles it to tell me she needs to go. "Good luck in there."

Delly heads back down the hall in the direction we had just come from. I hesitate in front of the auditorium doors, dreading spending the next hour and a half with the guy I hurt irrevocably and twenty-two others that I barely tolerate.

"You waiting for me?" Finnick says from behind me. "Or are you just working up to a dramatic entrance?"

I look over my shoulder and roll my eyes at his seductive gaze and impossibly deep dimples.

"It's not like Drama Club is the highlight of my day, you know," I tell him.

Finnick positions himself between the door and me. "Really? You and Mellark seem to enjoy it."

"Yeah, maybe when he didn't hate me," I mumble under my breath, not intending for Finnick to catch it.

His perpetual smirk disappears for just a brief moment and his eyes almost show a trace of compassion. Finnick is quick to tuck his emerging emotions away.

"Well, then it's a good thing we're buddies!" he declares, putting his arm around my shoulder, and leads me inside.

"Where's your guard dog?" I ask sarcastically, nudging his hand off my shoulder, not knowing what to make of his chumminess.

"What? You mean Johanna?" he asks, pausing in the middle of the center aisle to give me a sideways glance. "You shouldn't worry about her. She's all bark, no bite."

I walk ahead of Finnick, grabbing a seat at our usual place in the row in front of the stage. Peeta has yet to arrive, but I claim my unofficial territory. Finnick plops down one of the seats beside me, leaving the other open for which I'm sure everyone is expecting to be Peeta. I glance at my watch, which already reads 2:58 PM. Everyone else seems to be comfortably situated as usual except for the one person who I'm most anxious about seeing.

Mr. Heavensbee makes his customary entrance from backstage carrying a thick stack of booklets in his arms. He laboriously lowers his pudgy frame down to sit on the edge of the stage and places the booklets on the floor beside him.

He clears his throat to get our attention before making his announcement. "Welcome back, my faithful thespians! It is, indeed, a very special day today. As promised, we will begin casting for our big production which I have right here!" he says with unshared enthusiasm, patting the stack next to him. "Before I reveal the play we are going to be performing, I have some very exciting news."

The small group of serious actors murmurs excitedly amongst themselves. The rest of us have already learned that Mr. Heavensbee's causes for excitement are typically not very exciting.

"I have recruited a bona fide, Hollywood actor to assist us with the production," he continues, prompting the class to finally buzz with anticipation. "Aha! And here he is now. Right on time!"

Twenty-three students turn our heads towards the back of the theater where none other than Peeta Mellark emerges from the shadows of the overhead balcony, followed by his Uncle Haymitch. At first, I'm confused. I scan the two doorways, still awaiting someone of Hollywood caliber to enter. I'm not alone. My classmates also seem to be having trouble making any connections as Peeta seats himself two rows behind me and his surly companion rounds the aisle to stand up front by our director.

Heavensbee must sense our puzzlement because he looks at us in disbelief. "Haymitch Abernathy! _Quarter Quell_? Anyone remember that show? He played Woody…" he attempts to jog a memory that doesn't exist in our generation.

"Oh! I think my mom used to watch that show!" Bonnie offers.

I hear Peeta snicker behind me, and I crack a knowing smile, but I force myself not to look back at him.

Our teacher quickly informs the club that Haymitch has been brought on board to assist him with the casting and direction of the play, as well as mentor us in our acting skills. As if I didn't dread the prospect of holding a public performance enough, now I have to look forward to working closely with Haymitch again.

After all the formalities of introducing Haymitch and his role, Mr. Heavensbee finally takes the booklet on the top of his stack and, with flourish, announces what play we will be putting on for the entire staff and student body of Snow High School, as well as whichever friends, family, and members of the community decide it is worth the price of a ticket to see us humiliate ourselves.

"We will be performing a somewhat original, modernized adaptation of Shakespeare's _Taming of the Shrew._ I wrote this script myself – thank you very much – and I must say, that I think it will be just the perfect balance of the classic comedy and modern setting." There is a split reaction from the crowd. Some are gasping with eagerness while others groan in reluctance. Heavensbee ignores the hum and continues, "Of course, our Drama Club is simply not large enough for the list of characters in Shakespeare's original, so I've taken some liberties in trimming it down to the most important roles."

A copy of the script finally reaches me and I disinterestedly turn a couple of pages until I get to the character list – _Kate (Katherine), Pete (Petruchio), Bianca, Luke (Lucentio), _and fifteen other secondary and minor characters. The remaining students would be part of the stage crew. I have no intention of auditioning for a speaking role. I already have my eye on the wardrobe supervisor or stagehand.

Unfortunately, our director and his new sidekick already have some people in mind to read for each of the major parts. I'm relieved when Mr. Heavensbee announces Cressida and Fulvia's names for the part of _Kate_, and they can't be any more self-satisfied about it. Finnick and Peeta are both asked to read for the part of the _Pete_.

Cressida and Fulvia's auditions for _Kate_ both go well, if not a little overacted. They don't have to try very hard to be aloof. The tiebreaker goes to Cressida, however, since she is physically taller and Mr. Heavensbee thinks it's more fitting for the older sister to be taller. Fulvia is subsequently cast as the younger sister, _Bianca. _ The two men in charge are ready to move on to the male auditions, when Johanna interjects.

"Whoa, hold up! So you're not even going to allow open auditions for the role of Bianca?" she demands. "What if one of _us _wanted to play a part?"

She argues with our director for a few minutes before Haymitch finally advises him to allow it. Finnick and I share a laugh at Johanna's expense. She seems pretty adamant about playing this particular role, but neither of us can imagine her playing a character to sweet and chaste. Fulvia doesn't seem to think Johanna is capable of taking on the role either, if the smug look on her face is any indication.

No one is prepared for the five-minute performance Johanna puts on. Her entire visage transforms. Her normally rigid, pompous stance curls into the perfect touch of shy girlishness. The aggression in her voice has suddenly become an airy lilt that nearly has us convinced that this is truly who Johanna is, and the brazen, insensitive antagonist is just a part she plays. Fulvia's jaw has nearly descended to the floor even before Mr. Heavensbee announces with unrestrained delight that Johanna has earned the role of _Bianca_.

When she returns to her seat with her normal swagger and plops down unceremoniously beside Finnick, he turns to her and says with disbelieving laugh, "What in the world was _that_?"

She responds with a mock humble shrug. Johanna's innocent girl act was so convincing, I'm briefly lulled into a false sense of camaraderie with her.

"Johanna, that was really good. How did you - "

"It's called 'acting', Brainless," she interjects, rendering me silent. "Even a bitch like me can pretend to be a nice girl. I'm surprised you don't know more about that."

I don't take her bait by responding. Instead, Finnick mumbles something to try to assuage her temper. I don't know how I'm managing to keep company with these two without Peeta. It's my own fault for not making more friends, but without the one person I felt comfortable with in Drama Club, I feel even more like a fish out of water. And I've suddenly become painfully aware of his heated stare boring into the back of my head.

"Peeta?" Haymitch calls out as if reading my thoughts. My cheeks burn from momentary feeling of being caught red-handed, when Peeta passes our row on the way up to the stage, and I realize he's been called up for his audition.

He is asked to read a couple of pages from the script as Mr. Heavensbee reads the parts of the other players. It's a scene where _Luke_ goes to _Pete's_ bar and propositions him about hiring _Kate_.

I should say that I'm not surprised at Peeta's convincing performance. After all, he has always had a way with words and his charisma is unmatched. But, short of our brief stint on the elementary school stage – which, quite frankly, I don't remember well – I've never seen Peeta act before. I'm almost certain he'll be awarded the lead role of _Pete _until Finnick performs his reading and tips the scale in his favor with just the right touch of egotism and obnoxiousness. Unlike the case with Johanna and the part of _Bianca,_ none of the other guys in the room readily volunteer to audition for the role of her suitor, _Luke. _ Thus, the part was defaulted to Peeta.

Finnick and Cressida go aside on their own to work on a scene for a chemistry read, as do Peeta and Johanna. Haymitch alternates meeting with each pair while Mr. Heavensbee speaks to the rest of us about casting the other roles. I tell him to what capacity I'm willing to participate and he agrees to let me be in charge of wardrobe in addition to a bit role as a passerby.

Once I have my assignment situated, my attention turns back to Haymitch and the others. Peeta and Johanna are off by the steps on the side of the stage trying to exchange lines in what appears to be an intimate scene. Peeta is leaning in, whispering something to Johanna, but they both keep erupting into fits of laughter. They start the scene over, attempting to get it right on the next try, but it seems that, every time they get to a part that requires affection or closeness, they break character.

Peeta turns away from Johanna who is forcibly trying to get him to look longingly into her eyes when he catches me spying on them. My eyes immediately dart away before his can. Instead, I divert my concentration toward Finnick and Cressida, growing more and more frustrated with Haymitch, and vice versa. The newly crowned _Pete _and _Kate _are trying to read their lines, but their mentor keeps shaking his head impatiently at them and swiping his face with his hands in exasperation. I cock my head in amusement and curiosity at them. As Haymitch explains something to them, which - by the look on his face - appears to be a repeat, he demonstrates what he wants for them to do. They're all the way near the back of the stage, and Heavensbee is talking to the class like an auctioneer, so I can't make out what they're saying, but it seems like Haymitch isn't satisfied with their chemistry. I'd like to see what he thinks of the other two who can't seem to get it together either.

Once the rest of the students have been assigned their roles, Mr. Heavensbee turns to Haymitch for feedback.

"I gotta tell you," Haymitch begins regretfully. "They may have all knocked it out of the park in their solo auditions, but unless they're acting opposite a telephone pole, it's not looking so great. Finnick acts like he's doing _Braveheart_ or something, Cressida there sounds more like a serial killer than a shrew, and I think she enjoys the kissing scene a bit too much. Then you got Tweedledee and Tweedledum over there who have the sexual chemistry of 3rd graders."

Our director scratches the bald area of his head.

"What do you propose we do?" he asks under his breath.

"Mr. Heavensbee, sir," Fulvia raises her hand. "I'm still more than willing to take on the role of _Kate_ should you be needing a _more capable_ replacement."

Her underhanded remark does not go unnoticed as Cressida scowls with betrayal.

"I have another idea," Haymitch cuts in, rubbing the scruff on his chin. Heavensbee eyes him quizzically, but nods his head to give him the floor. "Katniss, c'mere."

I look around the room and back at Haymitch to clarify that he was actually talking to me.

"Me? What do you need _me_ for?" I ask, still glued to my chair.

He waves me over to the stage. "Yes, you. Come on up here, Sweetheart."

I slowly stand up, suspicious of Haymitch's intentions. Every pair of eyes follows me down the aisle and up the steps as I awkwardly navigate past Peeta and Johanna's death glares, and over to where Haymitch is awaiting me.

"Wh-what do you want with me?"

He grabs the booklet from Cressida's grasp and hands it to me. "I want you to read the part of _Kate. _Go on."

Cressida looks at me in shock and probably a little – or a lot of – resentment. As if I am up on stage by choice.

"I don't want –" I begin, but I'm quickly interrupted by Mr. Heavensbee's own protests.

"Mr. Abernathy, I hardly think Katniss has the acting chops to take on a lead role like this."

I know I ought to agree with him, because he's absolutely right. But there's something about his certain lack of faith in me that makes me want to challenge him.

Haymitch crosses his arms over his chest in defiance. "Well, that's good. Because very little acting is involved. _This _shrew is all-natural."

I pinch my face and furrow my brows at him. "Really? This, coming from the drunken train wreck himself?" I bite back at Haymitch. "Wait, I guess that really does make you the expert, doesn't it?"

"Ladies and gentleman – case in point," Haymitch turns to address the auditions, holding out his hand towards me.

After a moment of absolute silence, Mr. Heavensbee, followed by the rest of the students, erupt into applause.

* * *

It turns out, Finnick playing the pompous, insolent suitor and me playing the spiteful, temperamental shrew is about as natural to us as breathing. I really don't want to be in this play, let alone playing the female lead, but now that Haymitch has suckered me into it, Mr. Heavensbee is convinced he's hit a goldmine.

I have to admit, however, that this character is far more suitable to me than Dorothy. I even manage to get through Finnick's kiss without vomiting. I try not to think about how many other lips and body parts his mouth has touched prior to mine. I try to focus on the audience and our directors watching our every move. I'm less repulsed and more methodical about the scene than I thought I'd be, and somehow I manage not to hand over the role to Fulvia instead.

When our chemistry scenes are done for the day, Peeta and Johanna take over the stage and try, in vain, to replicate the apparent ease of our performance. Peeta is trying so hard not to laugh at the act of kissing Johanna that he becomes visibly tense and rigid, even from where I'm watching several yards away.

Finnick stands up again and strides authoritatively back to the stage.

"Dude, let me show you how it's done," he says, nudging Peeta aside, and takes Johanna's face in his hands, gently bringing her lips to his. Her shocked expression melts away and her body goes limp in his arms. A couple seconds later, Finnick pulls himself away and turns back to Peeta. "There. Like that. What's so hard about kissing a beautiful woman?"

"Yeah, whatever, Finnick," Peeta replies with unmasked annoyance. "I get it. You want to kiss everybody. What's the count today? Cressida, Katniss, Johanna…"

And before anyone could possibly predict what would happen next, Finnick's mouth is on Peeta's, effectively shutting him up. I'm stopped by the sight of Finnick kissing Peeta. *

Peeta is too stunned to react for a second then he shoves Finnick off of him. Finnick's initial mocking laugh is cut off when he stumbles back a few steps and his feet trip over an outstretched extension cord. What happens next seems like we are watching a slow motion replay. His tall frame tumbles back. Finnick lands on his rear and stretches out his hand to try and keep himself from falling further back, but his hand grazes the lip of the stage before he loses grip and flips ungracefully over the edge and landing four feet below on the polished cement floor.

"Oh, my gosh, Finnick!" Peeta shouts after him, looking down at him on the floor. "Man, are you alright? I'm so sorry!"

Finnick is grimacing in pain, clutching his shoulder and grunting loudly. Blood is dripping profusely from his nose. "Dude! What the hell was _that_ for?"

"Finnick, are you okay?" Mr. Heavensbee says, peering down over the edge of the stage on his hands and knees. "Perhaps you ought to go to the nurse's office for an ice pack, maybe?"

He tries to push himself up off the floor, but his arm gives way beneath him. His painful groans reverberate through the auditorium's acoustics. Peeta throws his legs over the stage and hops down to help Finnick up. Finnick swats him away, refusing his assistance.

"I got it!" he barks at Peeta. "You've done enough."

"I'm sorry, Finn. I didn't mean to push you so hard."

Finnick rises awkwardly to his feet, wincing and clutching his nose. He limps away towards the exit, leaving the rest of us to wonder what will become of our leading man.

* * *

I spot Gale's car parked in the semi-circle driveway in front of the main office. His seat is slightly reclined as he naps in his car, waiting for me to get out. I rap on the passenger window to wake him and wait for him to reach over and unlock my door. Peeta, Johanna, and the other Drama students flock towards the student parking lot, followed by a few cheerleaders just getting out of practice.

"Hey, Everdeen!" Finnick calls out to me from beside a Toyota Camry parked several yards behind Gale's car. His arm is in a blue sling and his nose is covered in gauze and medical tape, but his facial bruising is peeking out around it. "Make sure you tell Romeo 'thanks' for me. I'm gonna look like crap for weeks!"

"Maybe you shouldn't have tried to make out with him," I reply facetiously. "You should learn that 'No' means no."

He shakes his head at me, grabbing the bridge of his nose and grimacing from the movement, before sliding into the passenger seat of his mother's car. I do the same.

"Thanks for picking me up."

"Any time," Gale replies. Mrs. Odair's car passes us and Gale nods in its direction. "What was that?"

I tug at the seatbelt a few times before it finally releases some slack to pull around me. "Ugh. That's Finnick. A pain in the ass. He's in Drama with me."

"What happened to him? Did you beat the crap out of him or something?" Gale chuckles as he starts up the engine and pulls out of the driveway.

"Nah. He tried to kiss Peeta and consequently got pushed off the stage," I explain.

Gale responded with an incredulous laugh. "Wow, and I thought marching band was an incestuous bunch."

* * *

Gale stays at my house, studying, while I prepare a measly dinner of grilled cheese sandwiches and frozen corn. I'm alternating between checking the sandwiches for the perfect golden crust and stirring the corn in a pot of boiling water when the house phone rings. I quickly flip over the grilled cheese and turn the knob for the corn to the 'off' position before wiping my hands on my jeans and answering the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Katniss?" a familiar British accent replies on the other end of the line.

"Yes? Mr. Heavensbee?"

"Yes. Yes. Well, I know this doesn't directly concern you," he says. "But I thought you might like to know that, Mr. Odair's injuries may prevent him from recovering in time for the performance, so we've preemptively re-casted his part. I just wanted you to know, you will have a new leading man."

My stomach twists itself into knots. My pulse races and a smothering heat rises up my face. I have a very strong feeling I know who is going to be playing the role of _Pete._ The bread on the pan is sizzling loudly and begins to smoke a little, but I can't think well enough to turn it off.

I don't catch everything Mr. Heavensbee says, but one word – one name – is uttered, confirming my fears.

"…Peeta," his voice interrupts my swirling thoughts. "I've already spoken with him and he's accepted the role. I know you two are good friends, so I don't have any doubt you'll do a fantastic job together!"

"Umm." I swallow audibly. "Don't you think it's a little unfair to Finnick to replace him with the person who injured him in the first place?"

Mr. Heavensbee bats down my concern and insists that Peeta and I will do a good job. It occurs to me that Haymitch may have had something to do with the decision, which infuriates me to think he's manipulating the situation between Peeta and me.

When our conversation is through, I slam the phone back onto its cradle. I turn to find Gale in the kitchen, tending to the burning food, and staring at me curiously.

"What was that about?" he asks, draining the corn in the colander. "Why are you so pissed?"

I'm too upset to filter myself and before I know it, I'm griping about the situation to Gale.

He eyes me perplexed. "The lady doth protest too much, methinks."

"What?" I snap back at him, not in the mood for his joking.

Gale rolls his eyes at me. "I just don't understand why you're so mad about Peeta getting the part. You didn't seem all that fond of that Finnick guy anyway. It just seems to me like you ought to be grateful to have to pretend to like someone that's already your friend."

His gaze lands on mine and lingers there. I can see questions swirling in his head. My palms begin to sweat and my heart is pounding so hard, I'm sure Gale can heart it. The secrets, the charade – it all becomes too much. It is in that very moment, I break.

"He's not." My voice comes out like a wisp of air, hardly even audible.

"What was that?" Gale urges. "I can barely hear you."

My hands come up to press against the side of my burning face, trying to suppress the pulsing in my temples.

"_He's not_, I said. Peeta's not my friend," I clarify. "I-I mean, he's not… _just_ my friend."

Gale's expression remains blank – not angry, not hurt, not confused – but it is that lack of expression that speaks volumes; for what is also missing from his face is _surprise._ Gale is not surprised by what I'm trying to tell him.

"So what you're saying is that Peeta is more than your friend?" he asks, his tone forcibly even.

I drop eye contact with him and stare down at the hairline crack in the travertine floor tile. "He was. This past summer. I mean we were never like… _official_ or anything. It was just a thing, I don't know."

Gale turns around to mindlessly plate the food. "So when did this 'thing' end?"

The truth is that it ended that day he showed up on my doorstep. But somehow, I can't get myself to tell Gale this.

"At the end of summer. It wasn't serious," I tell him, trying to play it casual with a shrug.

"When I got here?" I think Gale means to ask me a question, but it comes out more like a statement. I nod anyway in answer. "How long were you planning on keeping this a secret?"

His tone has broken its evenness and the fire I'm used to is beginning to emerge.

"I'm sorry!" I shout back somewhat insincerely. "I wanted to tell you. I-I just didn't know how. Everything was great when you got here and I didn't want to mess it up. I didn't know what you'd think or how you would feel after –"

I stop myself. I know we'll have to discuss the kiss that happened between us, but I feel like, if I'm the one to bring it up, I'll be admitting to Gale that I've been thinking about it.

He's not fooled. "After what? After I _kissed _you? After I basically admitted to you how I felt about you?" His voice has risen so much, I'm worried Prim might hear him from her room. "I don't get it, Katniss. After everything you and I have been through, you basically shut me down, ignored me all summer while you hooked up with some random guy you barely even knew and – "

"Wait, hold up," I interject. "Before you go jumping to conclusions, Peeta and I didn't 'hook up.' We never slept… we never had… _you know_. I can't believe you'd even think that!"

"You can't really blame me here, Katniss. I don't know what to believe. Here I thought I was doing you a favor by backing off, giving you space because you weren't ready for a relationship. Come to find out, you just didn't want to be with _me,_" he says, masking his hurt feelings with anger. "What was so different about him?"

"Gale, please don't. It was just a summer fling. It was… it was _nothing_!"

The word left my mouth and I could still taste its bitterness on my tongue.

"Catnip," he says my nickname in a quieter tone. "He's still your friend. One that lives down the street from you, gives you rides, hangs out at your house for movie nights and holidays, fixes your pipes. That's not 'nothing.' If it was, you wouldn't be getting so upset about having to act like a couple on stage."

"I'm just upset, because –"

"Can you just answer this – why not me?"

I stare blankly back at him, unable to find the right words or the right reasons to give him. There's an indefinite length of silence hanging between us before he finally just turns to leave. I don't stop him. I don't even say goodbye. I just shut the door behind him and wait there, leaning against the hard, wooden barrier until the faintest trace of his engine has completely faded away.

Needless to say, I skip out on the now unpalatable dinner sitting on the counter – the bread blackened, the cheese coagulated. I head straight for my room where I collapse onto the bed and bury myself under my blanket.

Gale's question plagues my mind for a good hour.

_Why not him?_

Without a doubt, I know I love him and he loves me. I know I can trust him, which is probably the most significant and rare quality. So, why _not_ Gale?

I jump, as the phone ringing interrupts my marathon of thoughts. I turn to check the time on my alarm clock – "10:25 PM" illuminates the nightstand in the darkness of my room. The ringing stops after just three repetitions, which leads me to think either Prim has answered it or my mom is home from work now. I'm just happy I don't have to entertain whoever chose to call at this ungodly hour on a weeknight.

A few minutes have passed before my doorknob turns and my mom's silhouette appears in the light of the hallway.

"Katniss?" she says, her worried voice giving away what her face cannot. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah, Mom."

"Sweetie, something's happened."

* * *

_*Catching Fire, page 280_

_**Review! Review! I love hearing your feedback! :)**_


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